


Growing Glory

by Blackmarch



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Big Ass, Body Modification, Body Worship, F/F, Large Breasts, Useless Lesbians, body growth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29665590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackmarch/pseuds/Blackmarch
Summary: Summary: Amy's got unmet needs. Victoria's got unacknowledged wants.They work something out to both their satisfaction.
Relationships: Amy Dallon/Victoria Dallon
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

“Jesus, Amy. Just call me Delivery Girl, why don’t you? It'd be the same thing anyway.” Vicky grumbled as she just about threw open the front door to her house. The frame rattled from the force, and several pictures on the walls shook alarmingly on their hooks, but that was pretty much it. No signs of damage, not since her parents had put in the money and time to reinforce it from the last time she broke it in a moment of forgetfulness. “This is so _dumb_.”  
  
How her fellow Brutes could go through their day to day without accidentally outing themselves, she had no clue. She could barely slip on a pair of skinny jeans without popping the buttons right off as it was...and titanium frames with wall supports weren’t exactly cheap.  
  
“You knew what day it was before you walked out the door,” the blonde continued her grumble as she hovered up the stairs. “How hard is it to remember you had homework to turn in today, really?” Her tone heightened, sounding nowhere near her sister’s but well enough for the occasion. “You can fly! You have a lunch period and a study hall back to back! You can go get it for me! You owe me quite a few favors!”  
  
That that last part was _true_ was the only reason she was here, to be honest. She could have been back at school, eating something unidentifiable on a tray and complaining about Dean (they were having a break so he was fair game) with her small circle of friends. But, no. That wasn’t in the plans today, it seemed… Not until Monday, what with it being the weekend.  
  
She wasn’t completely vapid. Victoria knew that Amy wasn’t into hearing her complain about him… It wasn’t like she had anyone to talk to about that sort of thing otherwise though. Girl talk with her Mom sounded like an experience she didn’t want to deal with, and Crystal was too busy being a ‘grown-up’ to bother with her younger cousin’s totally legitimate problems.  
  
Sometimes, a girl just had to make do with what she had. Holding in her thoughts and feelings until it blew up didn't sound all that healthy... What did she know though? Crystal had been the one to bring it up.  
  
New Wave's very own armchair psychiatrist, Crystal Pelham. Boy, was Aunt Sarah proud.  
  
“Stupid project about Chicago for Mrs. O’Leary being worth 10 percent of her grade,” She griped some more, just to get a little more in there as she made her way down the hall and to her sister's room. She threw open the door, ignoring the crack from this non-reinforced door frame with a wince... She then flew over, slowly, to Amy’s desk, to start rapidly flipping through the various pieces of paper and books on the desk.  
  
This was already looking a lot harder than it should have been. It didn’t take long, three minutes maybe, before she started getting irritated.  
  
“Goddamnit... Where the hell is it? Why didn't she put it at the top of her desk like everyone else does?” She asked before slamming (gently) her fist onto the top of the desk in frustration.  
  
The desk was a sturdy one. Pure hardwood and heavier than five of her combined. Good craftsmanship, her dad had said...expensive too. Finding another one like it was super unlikely, making it as good as one of a kind in the current economy.  
  
The loud _crack_ and _thud_ that came directly after that blow caused her to freeze as a cold sweat started up on the back of her neck.  
  
 ** _Fuck._**  
  
“Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit.” Vicky swore as she backed up and ducked down…to see that she'd knocked the under drawer right off of its railings. “I ripped the lock right out of the frame… Jesus fuuu-”  
  
Vicky instantly realized that this wasn’t something that she could easily fix. Not before someone noticed...and someone would notice.  
  
Amy had already proved to be somewhat defensive about it, and snappish when Victoria wondered about it aloud. Or peeked at it. Or breathed a little too close… It hadn't taken long for Amy to threaten her with a pair of cankles that a fifty-five-year-old chain-smoking secretary would have been proud of. Liver spots and veins and all.  
  
Vicky hadn’t thought about it since… Much. It wasn’t a good thought… Anyway, at this point, she was pretty sure that, unlike most girls, her included, Amy didn't hide her toys in her sock drawers. That was what made sense to her.  
  
Really, that was kind of smart once you thought about it. If someone was looking for your goodies, they'd check the sock drawer first and leave the desk alone. Genius. Now, once that thought had come to her as well, she was going to have to move her stuff. It wasn't as if she had a _lot_ to hide, sure, but there was nothing wrong with having a little extra security against embarrassment and those weirdos that were always looking for her stuff to sell on the net.  
  
They existed. She’d checked. She _knew_. A pair of her underwear out of the clothes hamper, before they’d caught up to the burglar that had done it while she was at school and put it in an evidence locker, had gone for just under five-hundred-thousand at an online auction. Seeing as that had been a pair she’d spent all of a day wearing, she was pretty sure that Mr. Big could sell for a mansion.  
  
People had killed for less...and that was the name of the package that marital aid had come in. Not something that she’d thought to call...whatever. Who was she trying to convince?  
  
Vicky, with a very vague idea of what she wanted to do and that it didn’t involve making things worse, pulled the drawer out and onto the floor to see what the damage was...and it wasn’t looking good. As she’d already noticed, she’d ripped the lock right out of the desk. Sturdy lock, weak wood, like the front door all over again… The railings looked fine, so she could pop it right back into the desk without any noticeable issues. The problem was though, as soon as Amy went to open it… Boom.  
  
Victoria, carefully not thinking about that time, slotted it in...and then the rails fell out, sending laminated photos and loose paper flying out all across the floor as the drawer they’d been in cracked like an egg within her iron fist.  
  
Yet another experience she didn’t like thinking about. Cooking something that wasn’t cereal and milk wasn’t exactly her forte… Man, once she thought about it, what _was_? Punching things and looking pretty?  
  
“Amy is going to kill me,” she whispered to herself, forgetting all about her kitchen mishaps as that cold sweat of hers turned to midwinter lake water. “Please, no. No, no, no… I don’t want to wear bell-bottom jeans and stockings for the rest of my life!”  
  
Leaning down to pick up the pictures she’d dropped was instinctual, her reaching for the metaphorical Jenga piece that was about to bring down the tower. As if, as long as she put it all away, and pretended she’d never seen it happen, everything would be okay. School rules.  
  
Victoria tried to keep her curiosity under control. To keep Amy’s already tenuous privacy in one piece...but she was just one girl. One person handling what they assumed was pornography of some sort or another, and a veritable pile of it as well. Of course, that might not be what it was at all. Just sensitive materials, Amy’s equivalent of a journal. Not everything had to be about sex.  
  
Sex just made for much better gossip, was all. When it wasn’t classes or clothes it was boys and boning. Easy. That was a heavy oversimplification of girl talk, yes, but it really wasn’t all that far off. That she shouldn’t apply it to family, ever, went without saying...but old habits were hard to break.  
  
Her hands began to slow as she fell deeper and deeper into thought.  
  
Hell, maybe these were the papers she’d been looking for all along? It wasn’t like Amy had actually _said_ where the paperwork was. She’d just kind of said ‘you’ll know it when you see it’ and left it at that. Maybe if she’d been a little more helpful, then Victoria wouldn’t have been feeling so nosy right then.  
  
When she flipped over the first picture to look at it from out of the corner of her eye, she instantly regretted it. For one, it was porn. For another-  
  
“That’s me,” Vicky wheezed as she gave up all pretenses against nosiness to pick it up for a closer look. “Oh, _Christ_ , **_what_**.”  
  
Now, that wasn’t quite correct. Part of it was. Specifically, the head in cheap black and white printer ink. Badly photoshopped and attached to some older woman with cheap, and so large as to be tacky, breast implants, spreading wide for the camera.  
  
That wasn’t any better, of course, but that it wasn’t actually _her_ did help her separate herself from a good third of the very confused feelings she was having. It wasn’t the content that disturbed her though. Much. Like everyone else her age, she _lived_ on the internet. She’d seen much worse just by trawling PHO’s safe for work boards.  
  
Not even the fact that someone had slapped her head onto a black and white picture of a cheap pornstar bothered her. Not really. She was a semi-famous girl on the internet with all that implied… That she’d made it a habit of forwarding what mess she got to people’s families and friends to let peer pressure do its job only did so much... She’d become the closest thing to numb to that all that by now.  
  
It was the photo that had been _used_ that bothered. It was her. At fourteen. Right before she got her powers and began to fill out. The feel, that ponytail, the braces. That was her Basketball team photo. From before everything.  
  
“Lord in heaven,” Vicky said, an errant twitch of her fingers making short work of the cheap paper in her hands. “What evil have you brought upon me this fine day?”  
  
She couldn’t help the subconscious swipe of her tongue across her teeth as she remembered that time. That time when Amy had just Triggered, and the first thing that Vicky asked for when she’d felt better… Thanks to the two of them being high on her having powers like everyone else, and being thirteen and fourteen respectively, they hadn’t bothered to think of possible consequences.  
  
Healing with no training or supervision. Or even basic medical knowledge. It had taken them a few tries before they finally got Vicky to have perfect, straight shiny teeth… More things had gone right than they hadn’t, and that was really all that was needed in the end in their opinion. In theirs. An important distinction.  
  
The chewing out that they had gotten from mom had set a new record. Once that hadn’t been matched yet, or even close… Understandable. She hadn’t found a twisted piece of metal and a pile of discarded teeth in the bathroom sink (theirs) since.  
  
Vicky took a deep breath. Swallowed, hard enough to hear and hurt as she picked out the next photo. In color this time, the paper still as cheap as the last. Another bad photoshop, this time from when she’d just started joining in on patrols. Her first appearance, she thought...This time, placed onto the body of a younger woman than the last with even _bigger_ implants. A set that went beyond tacky and went straight to almost cartoonish, both in size and presentation.  
  
Straight on, facing the camera. Hands cupped under her breasts, her darkened areolas the size of dollar coins. Bent over and with a butt so wide that you could see it from the front. Back or forward, either way she came into a room, it must have taken _forever_ for the rest of her to catch up.  
  
That a body like _that_ had _her_ face on it was the most jarring part of all.  
  
It was around that Vicky finally gave in. Quit pushing back the easy answer as to what this all was...and that Amy wasn’t collecting these for the sake of evidence.  
  
A rapid flip through just confirmed her suspicions even further. The theme, the aesthetic and focus, remained the same throughout every one; Her smiling face pasted onto the body of a porn star bimbo, the sophistication of each photo bouncing back and forth in terms of quality the farther she got into the unorganized stack.  
  
It was only near the very end of the stack, the least disheveled parts of the mess, did a steady progression in terms of professionalism began to appear. The seam of her head and neck blended better, the age and shape of the subjects became a closer match to her own... The lighting was a bit off, yes, and the moment of ecstasy on her face was clearly her in the middle of a sneeze...but, compared to the first few, there was no actual comparison to be made.  
  
The concerning bit here, and there was _always_ a concerning bit, was the head of mousy brown hair in between ‘her’ legs. A clearer message of intent and sexual thirst was hard to find.  
  
Victoria was capable of lying to herself about a lot of things... But she wasn’t delusional. Just purposely dim when it suited her, which it didn’t this time around. There was no denying the literal stack of evidence in her hands of her little sister’s deviancy. The proof that puberty had hit Amy like a meteor and wouldn’t have minded if her sister had been carrying twenty or so pounds extra, in front and back.  
  
… And, suddenly, the reason as to why Amy had taken every computer elective that Arcadia had to offer made sense. Victoria hadn’t noticed her using them for anything, but she supposed that was sort of the point. If Vicky had known what Amy did with her time when she wasn’t at the hospital, that might have made things more than just a little awkward between the two of them.  
  
Putting the last of the photos back into its place, she slotted the drawer in as softly as she could before backing away from the ticking time bomb that she’d just uncovered with existential dread.  
  
She couldn’t ignore this. Literally couldn’t. This was a lot bigger than just a messed up desk and a slightly cracked door. As it was, it would only be a matter of time before Amy saw the damage and knew who to blame… They were going to have to, horror of horrors, _talk this out_.  
  
Victoria left the room. Went down the stairs. Slipped through the front door and into the afternoon daylight...and, by the time she remembered that she hadn’t found Amy’s homework, she was already more than halfway there.  
  
All in all, not the best day she’d ever had.


	2. Chapter 2

“Come down from there, you stupid fucking-!” Amy yelled, broom in hand as she jabbed angrily at her sister who had, so far, refused to come off of the ceiling. The _very_ _second_ they’d walked into the house, Vicky had just about plastered herself to it for reasons that, at the time, Amy couldn’t understand. “What the hell, Vicky!”  
  
“It was an accident!”  
  
“YOU WERE AN ACCIDENT!” Amy jabbed harder, catching her sister right in the boob as the blonde made to weave out of the way. “NOW, STAND STILL!”  
  
“AMY, NO!”  
  
Now though...was an entirely different time. Amy couldn’t remember a time that she’d been so worried, _so scared_ , in her life before. She didn’t know what to do, what to say. When she’d checked her desk, only to have _that_ drawer fall out all over her feet… Amy had almost died right there, her heart exploding in her chest.  
  
This was a distraction from the issue, for herself and for Victoria who had, assumedly, never seen what was inside… If she had… It didn’t bear thinking about.  
  
“When I’m done with you, your arms are going to look like sausage rolls!’” She continued to scream, her broom work getting more and more accurate over time. The only thing currently keeping Vicky out of mumus, and wearing a paper bag over her head for the rest of her life, was that there was no convenient furniture of Amy to climb up on that the Brute couldn’t fly away from. “You’ll have skin flaps so big, you’ll make a flying squirrel jealous!”  
  
“We can fix it! Hell, we can make it better!” Vicky said loudly back, trying to be diplomatic in her own way as she crossed her arms over her breasts for the very basics in protection. That one time Amy had got her there had probably been quite a shock. “I can pick one out and have Dean pay for it if it's really such a big deal!”  
  
Amy, who hadn’t exactly been slacking when it came to whacking her sister like a very elusive spider, redoubled her efforts. She also started jumping, making her already insurmountable advantage of ‘reach’ an even better one...and she’d been going at it for a surprisingly long amount of time.  
  
Doing rounds at the local hospitals wasn’t exactly great exercise. Mostly standing in place for long periods of time, really, interspersed with a short journey to the next room and yet more standing. It may not have been _sedentary_ , but Amy’s blood flow could have definitely been a little better.  
  
This continued on for a good few more minutes until Amy landed wrong. Slightly at an angle, causing her feet to twist out from under her and bring her to the floor on her butt with a bounce. Now, after having fallen, was when her physical state finally caught up to her. Doing what came naturally, she fell the rest of the way down and started panting for air.  
  
Had she said she wasn’t in the greatest shape yet? She was pretty sure that she had...and she’d worn herself out. Completely out, for what might as well have been no reason at all. The panic was still there if slightly lessened, but…  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
Amy just laid there, panting, her face flushed, sweat matting her hair to her forehead as she rolled her head from side-to-side in silent denial.  
  
“Are you actually angry about the drawer? Like...actually?” Vicky asked as she, slowly, came down from the ceiling with a careful eye on her, just in case Amy was faking her current weakness. Amy's breathing then switched from labored to stilled as Victoria pulled a paper out from around her back, slightly crumpled but recognizable for what it was. “Or is it about what was in there?”  
  
Amy said nothing. Made no moves. Not even a single blink to give away what she was thinking...possibly. With how hard she was staring at the picture in Vicky’s hand, it should have burst into flames by now. That, or her. Whichever worked.  
  
“I'm - not angry. Mostly just...” The blonde probed a corner of her mouth with her tongue in thought as she scratched her leg with the heel of her foot. “I...I just want to talk about it. With you. Calmly. About this whole - thing as mature and rational young-”  
  
“You hate me now. Don’t lie to me,” Amy whispered, feeling as if a yawning pit had just opened up in her stomach as her every extremity went cold. Amy had thought she knew what it was like to have a panic attack. The hospital had exposed her to more of them than she could count. She’d been wrong. “Any second now, Carol is going to bust in here and blast my closet into splinters before kicking me out, isn’t she?”  
  
Amy was done. The game was up. The subject of her affections, more than just familial, _knew_ how she felt. How strongly, how much...and what Amy would like to do to her if she had the chance and some privacy. Knew about her...her issues. Her **_needs_**.  
  
Victoria, as a rule, was built like a goddess. Bigger, smoother, curvier, better proportioned than everyone around her...and that ideal had become something different as they’d both aged, Amy guessed. She was no mind doctor. No psychiatrist, her job being purely about someone’s physical wellbeing...but that was what made sense to her, somewhat.  
  
What else could it have been?  
  
Vicky had always been the type of girl to stand out just by existing. Amy hadn’t always been the type of girl that wanted to make her stand out even _more_ , just for her...but that was in the past. This was the now.  
  
Amy should have pulled back from what she was doing years ago. From the printer and mounds of ink, eating away at her wallet... It was too late now though. Much too late. Now, all she could do was take her lumps as they came.  
  
… She could never have nice things without her screwing it up, could she?  
  
“Ah, shit… I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?”  
  
From one second to the next, a blink and a breath, Amy found herself in a completely different place. Standing on weak legs with Victoria’s hands on her shoulders, the slight tremor in them nearly unnoticeable through the mousy brunette’s sweater as the blonde kept her upright and standing.  
  
Nearly. Not completely. The difference was striking and, much like the other definition of ‘striking’, it left Amy feeling like she’d just been punched in the gut. Air wasn’t coming in nearly fast enough. Her head felt light and her vision was going runny with tears at the corners of her eyes.  
  
“Hey. Hey, now. Come on. Don’t do that… We can deal with this, together. You and me. No one else. Everything’s going to be _okay_.” Victoria shifted an arm around her sister’s shoulders and started leading her to the bed, shushing Amy’s sniffling in an attempt at being soothing all the way there. It didn’t stop when they arrived either. It just got quieter, now that it was no longer being done in Amy’s ear and making everything _worse_. “I’m nervous too, Amy, believe me, but we kinda have to do this.”  
  
“Do we? Do we _really_?” Amy asked, her voice watery and muffled through her fingers as Victoria took a seat next to her. Not touching, thank god, but close enough to do so if the need arose...like now, as a box of tissues was rattled in front of her face, then put in her lap. How thoughtful. “Can’t we just - burn it all - and say we did?”  
  
Right now, the hours on hours she’d spent on putting all of that together didn’t matter. It was time that she’d never get back...but so what? Having to deal with _this_ made every day of work that she’d put into her hobby essentially worthless.  
  
Nothing was worth _this_.  
  
There was some quiet as Victoria legitimately thought that through for a moment. It was a recognizable state of being, Victoria thought. “... Well, if you really want to burn it all, we can do that too. I’ll even help, but we _can’t_ just leave it at that.” Then tossed it aside with some regret of her own. Damn it. “You’re… Uhm… Kind of into me?”  
  
Amy started pulling sheets of tissue out of the box in big swathes. Large balls; some for tearing, others for tears. She was going to need it. “... Can we just set fire to me then?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Amy, not even all that sure herself whether she was joking or not, pushed further. “You sure? Because, if you aren’t, I’m sure there’s a can of gas in the garage that we can use, and the neighbors won’t be home before-”  
  
“I’m not letting you set yourself on fire, just so you can get out of a really awkward situation, Amy.” The blonde’s brow scrunched as she gave the other girl a worried searching look. “You aren’t serious about that, are you?”  
  
“Of course not.” Maybe.  
  
“Well…” Vicky extended her stare for a couple of seconds longer, then relented. “Good. That’s not going to happen, got it?”  
  
“Wasn’t going to,” Amy mumbled into one of her tissue wads to clean her nose (she was going to be drippy for _hours_ ), just before getting a ‘friendly’ slug to the arm. It stung. A lot, actually. “Ow.” If it didn’t bruise a little, she’d be surprised.  
  
“No talkback, young lady. Just - just listen for a second.” She sighed, her eyes flicking to the sides as she fought to keep contact with Amy’s own. That she kept on target, more often than not, was admirable. “This isn’t any easier on me than it is on you, alright? I wasn’t exactly expecting any of this to come up in casual conversation so I’m kind of making this up as I go along.”  
  
“Don’t bother.” Amy tossed her used up rags away in the general direction of her wastebasket, only to have it bounce off the rim and behind instead. “Yeah. I’m into you. I’ve _been_ into you for years.”  
  
“... So, just to make sure, you _weren’t_ jealous of me for being with Dean?”  
  
Amy snorted. That she had just happened to have a four-ply shield in place beforehand was just a happy coincidence. “Fuck no. He doesn’t do anything for me, even besides him being a guy.”  
  
Victoria sucked a breath in between her teeth at that one. “Well, shit. That explains a lot about all those dates I set you up with and how they always went to shit, doesn’t it?”  
  
“You could have picked better dates, yes. Even with me being gay, you have crap taste in men.” Amy made a wry grin behind her hand. “Money and looks don’t mean anything when their idea of a good date is taking you to the nearest fast food joint and getting you water before driving away, Vicky.”  
  
“That only happened _once_.”  
  
“Because you threatened to break that one’s arm and he spread it around the school,” was Amy’s dry observation. “But we aren’t here to talk about him, are we?” She shrugged and, with a wipe of the sleeve across her eyes, focused her vision on the conflicted features of her sister, something that should have been impossible except for one, simple, thing... “We’re here to talk about how I’m in love with you and how I’m a fucking creeper. Not that hard to get to it, was it?”  
  
Fatalism was a hell of a drug to be on, if she could say anything at all.  
  
“... Okay…” Victoria coughed into her fist. “That was - blunt. I-I can look past the ‘love’ thing, seeing as we aren’t actually genetically related. I can deal with that. I don’t know much about the creeper thing, but-”  
  
“I have a collection of photos with your face slapped onto the most plastic, silicon-filled women I could find, going from when puberty started to now,” was Amy’s flat reply. “I wasn’t doing that because I thought it was funny, Vicky. Do the math.”  
  
Looking at the other Dallon, and the way her face was lighting up with blush, she already had...but it bore explaining, she supposed.  
  
“If you haven’t got there yet, I get off on the idea of you having tits the size of watermelons. Your ass, two basketballs forced together... Of making you stand out more than you already do, but just for _me_.” Amy paused to lightly grind her teeth. “You know what my powers are.”  
  
Victoria wrung her hands quietly, having given up eye contact as a lost cause all of ten seconds ago. “... I see.”  
  
“And is where you leave and never talk to me again unless forced to, right?” Amy said, resigned. Not like she could even blame her. Now, Amy loved her, but...if _Vicky_ had come at her with something like this instead of the other way around, Amy knew she’d be all kinds of put out too. This wasn’t an easy thing to stomach at the best of times and, this time, was _not_ the best. “I’ve seen soaps before. Telenovelas. I know how this goes.”  
  
It was a guilty pleasure.  
  
“No.” Victoria shook her head, hard. “This is the part where, against my better judgment, I let you try.”  
  
Amy’s head whipped around so hard, something in her neck popped.  
  
“You know. So that you can get it out of your system?” Vicky weakly rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t get it personally but, if you need to see it happen for real so that you can stop wondering…?”  
  
“... I can’t believe you actually just said that.”  
  
“I can’t believe it either. So, take advantage of me before I change my mind.”  
  
Amy could only stare in incomprehension, speechless. Not for long though as the idea that she’d just received _permission_ finished making itself clear in her head.  
  
Fuck it. She was going in.  
  
Amy wiped her hand clean of any snot with new tissue, the very basics of politeness...and touched her sister’s face.  
  
It would be easy. So very _easy_ to go farther than either of them wanted...but she wouldn’t. Didn’t. She already was being given more than she could have ever hoped for as it was.  
  
A mental prod set Victoria’s digestive system working in a way that could only be seen through parahuman intervention; rapidly breaking down and absorbing the remnants of the blonde’s lunch to prepare it as fuel for the change… Also, in retrospect, she really shouldn’t have let Vicky off with ‘Uh... New diet fad?’ on why she was eating a whole pineapple, skin and all.  
  
That could come later though. This was more than enough for what she had planned.  
  
With another thought, the materials raced to where they needed to go. Cells replicating and expanding. Nerve endings growing. Telomeres repairing... Not immortality by any means, but aging gracefully was definitely in the cards...and then she _looked_ and her breathing hitched.  
  
Now, it was worth it.  
  
“This is...” Vicky started with a slur to her words as she worked to talk through her new change. A pair of lips, set in a perfect pout. From a natural pink to an almost garish and unnatural, shiny red. “This is different. Definitely different.” Her tongue darted out to glance across her new features and, then, her body shook as her nervous system lit up with pleasure. “Holy _fuck_ , that’s sensitive.” Another flash of pink muscle. Another shudder. “If this is how it feels to have lips like these, I think I can see why people might be into this…”  
  
Amy, content to enjoy the moment, just nodded...and planned on how to get this to happen again. On the next time.  
  
Not like she had anything to lose anymore, right?


	3. Chapter 3

Once again, Victoria had found herself to be a fount of bad decisions. A mound of regrettable choices. Thick as two short planks with a brick on top for good measure...and, no. She wasn’t overreacting.  
  
Vicky rapidly tapped her fingers against the patio table, her overly plump lips surprisingly easy to purse as she forced herself to ignore the looks she was getting from the rest of the family. Crystal, the eternally nosy and half-time adult, had been staring at her like a hawk would a mouse for the last half hour. The morbid interest and amusement were obvious.  
  
Vicky’s mom had been doing much the same, much to no one’s surprise… Victoria’s response to the question as to _why_ her lips were as big as they were might not have been the best. Did people even _do_ Botox parties anymore? Or saline or whatever? She had no idea. Victoria had just made it up as she went along, with Amy chiming in when appropriate.  
  
That the other option, owning up, included throwing Amy under the bus though, hadn’t really been an option at all.  
  
She’d been tempted though. Oh so tempted. Amy’s excuses as to why she couldn’t do anything about it right then had been, to Victoria’s ears, rather weak. Something about chemical blahs and metabolic blehs that meant that Victoria wouldn’t be able to show up at the BBQ without a barf bag. The looks everyone gave her told her that they all thought that Amy was just letting her suffer the consequences of her actions.  
  
Family dinners at the Dallon house were serious business. Family dinners when Aunt Sarah and Uncle Neal came over were even _more_ serious business; zero excuses allowed that didn’t involve an S-class threat or her bleeding out from her eyes on the pavement somewhere. A bad, yet non-lethal and only slightly uncomfortable, reaction to a hypothetical Botox injection wasn’t close to enough to see her excused.  
  
If Amy had been a Brute, Victoria would have given her such a _pinch_. Thanks to her entirely fictional foray into cosmetic injections (Did Amy’s hands count as a topical application?), she was going to be housebound for _weeks_ … Her mom hadn’t even allowed her to bring a scarf or something to cover her face.  
  
Amy’s tightly controlled frown as she poked at her mashed potatoes and rib eye steak weren’t fooling Vicky at all. The brunette to her blonde was enjoying this immensely. That their mom’s disapproving eye had moved onto her for once (Vicky loved her mom, but she wasn’t _blind_ ) helped without a doubt...but that wasn’t all of it, was it?  
  
Amy was getting off on this. Amy was getting off on her sister (adoptive), looking like she stepped right off the cover of one of her niche porn sites...or close enough. Not many other ways to say it than that.  
  
Her lips weren’t nearly as large. They were large, yeah, but not _huge_. Not even close. Talking with these didn’t even give her a lisp and, hell, she could almost ignore the room’s AC doing its damndest to freeze them right off.  
  
… She might have been cheating with her forcefield a little. It was the closest thing to HVAC on demand that she’d ever heard of and that was priceless, especially with her costume being the way it was. Flying around in a skirt at eighty miles per hour with a local temperature of thirty Fahrenheit and below should have snapped her pretty little legs off with frostbite by now without it.  
  
“Please don’t break my table,” Aunt Sarah said casually, forcing Vicky to pull her hand back like she’d just been burned, all while putting another bowl of mashed potatoes on the table. “It's been in the family for the last seven generations, and I’m not breaking that streak if I can help it.”  
  
“I wasn’t going to break the table...” Victoria mumbled defensively as she got into serving herself a plate instead of getting well on her way to angst-ville. “I don’t break everything I touch either.”  
  
“I know you weren’t sweetie,” Victoria’s Aunt replied in a bright and not entirely convincing manner. Break a door, smash a window, fall through a wall even _once_ and they never let you forget it. “That was just a reminder.”  
  
Crystal sadly shook her head as soon as her mom turned away to do some more homemaking.  
  
Victoria flipped her off without remorse. If she was fucked, which she was, at least she would be fucked with a good helping of Aunt Sarah’s home cooking. Boiled potatoes mixed with mustard, vinegar, and celery would make things a little better... And maybe this wouldn’t be so bad? No one had said anything, even if Eric dearly wanted to. Her Dad was having one of his good days and was talking to Uncle Neal about guy stuff.  
  
Even if the next few days were going to suck, it didn’t mean that this day would. She had to look on the bright side. She got to stuff her face with all the food she wanted to, and Amy owed her so many favors for all this. She could probably down an entire can of lard with a pound of bacon grease to wash it down and be completely fine after.  
  
… Just thinking about that had been disgusting. Disgusting enough that she shouldn’t have thought of that while eating. If she’d had food in her mouth at the time...  
  
Carefully taking a fork up to do battle, she speared herself a strong helping of Barbeque on the end; enough to choke on if she forgot how to chew. She then stared at it for a while, her eyes narrowed as sauce dripped all over her plate as she considered whether they’d fit through her lips or not.  
  
Nothing risked, nothing gained. That was the conclusion she came to before putting morsel to mouth with the care of a surgeon in the middle of replacing an elderly man’s heart.  
  
… It could have gone better. It really could have. It could have gone worse, yeah, but it could have gone better.  
  
“Are you okay?” Eric was the first to ask, finally speaking to her as Victoria slapped her hands over her mouth. Her sensitive, sensitive mouth.  
  
“Yeah. Just bit my tongue.”  
  
“You can still bite your tongue?” Crystal asked from her end of the table, secure in the knowledge that, with all the attention on her cousin, Victoria couldn’t retaliate in any way she wanted. “Wow. That’s crazy.”  
  
Victoria’s lips continued to purse, the buzzing going through them more than distracting enough to hold back most of the verbal acid she wanted to spit. That, and her cheek being full of food and muffling her voice some. It was hard to be threatening when you looked like a chipmunk. “Isn’t it?”  
  
It turned out that solid food was going to be a problem. Despite not eating anything besides yogurt and water since lunch yesterday, she hadn’t been that hungry. Not hungry enough to test how far this went, she meant.  
  
Victoria could only chalk that up to Amy doing her thing, tweaking Vicky’s metabolism on the coattails of all of yesterday’s excitement.  
  
Not testing her changes beyond the feeling of her tongue against her puffed up flesh might have been a mistake. A little warning would have been appreciated… Alright. She knew what to expect now. She’d just been surprised and that wouldn’t happen again.  
  
Still though. If she’d thought that saying ‘I’m not hungry’ would have got her out of this, she’d have been gone by now. That she was actually hungry was a single bright spot in this mess. The quality of the food was yet another.  
  
She’d have to see about getting herself leftovers because, otherwise, she didn’t think she was going to be eating all that much… Victoria had been keeping score. Amy owed her enough favors at this point that Victoria could leverage functional immortality of the other girl with just a couple minutes of needling... Functional immortality and a barrel of root beer, just for shiggles.  
  
Could she throw a pillow softly enough to bruise but not break bones? Science wanted to know.  
  
It was only through sheer force of will, and the sort of calm that came to someone eating their last meal, that she kept her face level and still as every bite sent a chill through her body; An electric shock and the pricklings of what _might_ have been pleasure. Sexual, to be clear...the little noises she was trying to cover up with the sound of eating suggested as much, at least to her. Not to anyone else, that she could tell.  
  
A quick scan might not have been the best way of making sure that was the case, but it wasn’t as if she could ask… Amy noticed though. She’d definitely noticed.  
  
Their eyes met and Amy made a quick look back down to her food with a grin on her face; once again, Victoria was left wondering why she was the only blonde in the room to not have a Blaster rating. Throwing birdbaths at things was pretty useful, but it wasn’t exactly laser eyes. That was depressing as hell.  
  
 _Two_ barrels of rootbeer. With Amy pulling them into the house and up the stairs, then right back down when her mom finally noticed them and told her to put them down in the basement.  
  
Chewing thankfully only set off tiny twinges, giving her hope that she might be able to get through the meal without any further embarrassment. She slowly made her way through the potato salad, figuring out how to best eat it without setting herself off. She was very glad that she chose to wear pants today.  
  
“Having some trouble there, Vicky?” Crystal said with far too much glee in her voice to be faked, a napkin patting daintily at her mouth while Victoria simmered impotently… Someone _had_ noticed her problems. “Do you need a bib? I think we still have my old ones somewhere.”  
  
Victoria deeply regretted that they weren’t next to the ocean right then. If anyone needed a good dunking, it was her cousin...and, goddamn. What had crawled up her ass and died? Were her classes not going too well or something?  
  
“Crystal. Enough,” Uncle Neal added to the back and forth before it could really get going, a possible food fight right around the corner. “I’m sure that Carol doesn’t need your help embarrassing her.”  
  
“I have it well in hand.” Vicky’s mom hummed over a buttered bun. “If she ever does this again, she won’t be seeing the sun until she’s in her twenties.”  
  
“See?”  
  
Crystal grunted, her face souring lightly thanks to Victoria’s tongue sticking out at her. “Alright, dad.”  
  
The next time Victoria looked at Amy’s face, it was to see a hint of guilt. A hint. A dab, maybe...as soon as they got home, she was going to get it and that was that.  
  
==========  
  
Victoria, as promised, had her sister cornered as soon as they got home. As soon as their mom went upstairs to get ready for work and their dad planted his butt on the couch to watch the game… Any game. He wasn’t picky. He mostly watched tv for the noise.  
  
Amy knowing she was cornered and without any help, hid behind her ice cream cone and tried to make distance anyway... The poking jab at her stomach; the end of the very same broom she’d used to batter Vicky coming within inches of her could only be called karma.  
  
Karma was a bitch.  
  
“I did you a huge favor, you know. Three, in fact,” Vicky stated as she tapped the broom’s shaft against the palm of her hand. It wasn’t exactly a club but, in her hands, it was more than intimidating enough to do what she wanted it to do. “I talked this out with you. I let you act out the tiniest part of your deepest, darkest fantasies… It wasn’t that bad, just so you know.”  
  
Amy’s eyes seemed to brighten up at that.  
  
“And then I took the fall for you when I could have just thrown you under the bus.” Victoria pointed her weapon at her sister as the enthusiastic fervor left the healer’s eyes like water down the drain. “You owe me. You owe me _loads_. What are you going to do about this, hmm? How are you going to make this up to me?”  
  
Amy licked her cone to start, stalling for time as her eyes flicked towards the doors to the living and dining rooms as well as, funnily enough, the garage. Why she’d pick the garage was beyond Victoria, really. It wasn’t as if her getting out and into the open would help her. Vicky could _fly_. “I can see that you’re upset…”  
  
“No duh.”  
  
“But I know exactly what I can do to make things up to you.”  
  
Vicky cocked a brow at that. “You do, huh?”  
  
“I do.” Amy nodded before she _moved_ towards her sister, causing Vicky to move back in surprise; almost faster than Victoria could follow, her sister jumped at her, ice cream first, and shoved it into her mouth, dropping the blonde on her knees, defeated. “Igottagotothehospitalnowbye.”  
  
Victoria barely heard her sister’s excuse. Hell, she barely understood it… The second she’d tasted vanilla, she’d creamed herself. Soaked her yoga shorts right through in an obscene overreaction that damn near dropped her on her face with a chocolate waffle cone sticking out of it, all while Amy hauled ass out of the kitchen and onto the streets of Brockton Bay.  
  
She could run all she wanted. Victoria’s vengeance wouldn’t be denied, just - delayed. Soon as her eyes uncrossed...


	4. Chapter 4

Amy had never thought that she would be so happy to find herself out of breath, waiting for her ride to the hospital in a grungy car park...but, so she was. Hiding in a dark corner, working out the stitch in her side, being reminded of just _why_ she hadn’t taken up jogging; she was happy for a given value of happy, the circumstances not exactly what she could say was optimal.

Vicky just needed a little time to calm down, was all. Some time to think things over without Amy around to muddle the issue...or guilt her into giving up her dreams. It wouldn’t take much, really. Enough pleading from Vicky and she’d crumble like a wall made of styrofoam against a tide of magma. It was better for all concerned (all being her) to not allow anything of the sort to come up at all.

Of course, she couldn’t stay away indefinitely. The hospital would only be able to shelter her for so long, and it wasn’t like she could move all her stuff into an old laundry cabinet. Home would drag her back eventually and, besides, avoiding Vicky forever would be kind of - what was the word?

Dumb. Dumb came to mind.

Victoria had let her do a single change. Just one...and it wasn’t enough. It was such a small change. Minor. Barely there at all, even if she probably should have toned down the sensitivity some. The ice cream had been an on the spot thing and Victoria’s reaction hadn’t exactly been expected.

It had left Amy feeling sort of - _warm_. A different sort of warmth than the heat of exertion, building up underneath the folds and layers of her stupidly thick costume.

Pulling out the collar of her clothes, she let herself slump against the nice, cool, concrete wall just behind her; the lack of mysterious puddles or dark, moist patches at her back something that she could only call a win. The only wet on her was sweat. Sweat and a touch of other, suspect fluids between her thighs that were well on their way to drying up.

… She’d just about paralyzed her slightly modified sister with an ice cream cone to the face, and that was more than enough to get her moist. Problems. Amy didn’t have issues, she had subscriptions…hoarder stacks even. Also, she was feeling kind of tired, for much the same reason. The temptation to rest her eyes was nearly overwhelming, one of her preferred options as to how she’d spend the next five to ten minutes.

The other, only real, option was her just staring off into the distance until the van rolled around… For some reason, working off some stress in sorta public **definitely** wasn’t happening, issues or not… Amy had always been more into watching than doing anyway...and wasn’t that a nice thought?

“Boo.”

A harsh whisper into Amy’s ear while in the middle of fantasizing forced her to let out an unwelcome scream as she fell to the side; rolled onto her back, her hands underneath her as she tried to crabwalk herself to safety…she didn’t get that far, her lack of upper body strength having come around to bite her on the ass. “What the fuck, Vicky!?”

The dim light of the emergency exit cast a bloody glare over the blonde’s features, half in shadow and the rest in the dark. Predatory. Angry. A hovering, fat-lipped tower of retribution and disturbingly attractive hostility… That Amy couldn’t help but notice had changed its shorts.

Score.

“Vicky?” Amy tried again when she didn’t get an answer. A _verbal_ answer. Threatening hovering didn’t quite count. “You’re weirding me out here.”

“They aren’t coming today.”

Amy’s heart instantly sank at those four words.

“I called them already. Told them that you had some family problems.” Victoria shook her phone mockingly, the sparkly font in the dark glaringly bright. “They were very understanding...after all.” She put the phone back into its customary spot in her cleavage. “There’s been a death in the family.”

A bead of sweat, this one cold, ran down Amy’s forehead. She knew (mostly) that Vicky was exaggerating, that she wouldn’t really hurt her, but it was still pretty intimidating. “O-oh. That’s terrible.”

“She died so young,” Vicky agreed as her feet tapped against the ground, gravel crunching underfoot before she was in Amy’s face; a hand in Amy’s robe keeping her still while the other patted the dust off her shoulders somewhat harder than might have been necessary. “I don’t know what we’ll do without her bright smile and easy jokes.”

… Amy could say that having either of those descriptions applied to her was a new one. The opposite was familiar territory in comparison. It was enough to make her blink, confused before Vicky fit her under her arm like a bad and ungainly piece of luggage.

“We’ll just have to remember how great they were while they were alive, I suppose. Remember the good times. The times before she ran away from home and got herself caught up in something she shouldn’t have… Now, she’ll never be able to make all those horrible things she did right.”

“I’m still alive though,” Amy squeaked like a dog toy as her sister shifted her up a little higher and tightened her grip. “And you gave me permission! You knew what you were getting into before I went for it!”

“This is just - so sad.” Vicky, as she rose off the ground and made her way towards the nearest opening in the multi-tiered park, sniffed. “It's almost like I can still hear her voice.”

“Don’t ignore me, damn it! Let's talk this out!”

“It's so windy today… I wonder if it's going to rain? That would be appropriate. Like a Hallmark movie.”

“This is going to suuuuuuuuck.”

===============================

“I’m not sure how I thought this was going to go, but this isn’t it.”

“How did you expect it to go?” Victoria asked.

“Not like this.”

Amy wasn’t going to lie. This still sucked. A lot. Muchly...but she hadn’t expected it and it wasn’t as bad as she thought it was going to be. All of her limbs were still in the right place, so everything was fine there.

What _wasn’t_ fine was that her legs were asleep and her back was starting to hurt. As only to be expected when your sister had used you to do a slow-motion dunk into a basketball hoop… If it hadn’t been for her hips being just the smallest bit too wide to fall through (she was big-boned, damn it), she’d have been bent in half. That they were only went so far when it came to comfort.

The ground looked really far away from where she was sitting. _Really_ far. What was this? Ten feet? Positively vertigo-inducing, which Amy could only suppose was kind of the point. At this height, bouncing only did so much. Falling from here was a tailbone fracture for sure. That would be a bitch.

Victoria, just across the court, hummed a happy little ditty as she dribbled her way in circles around the court. Shook the dust off, worked out the rust, and let her feet touch the earth for longer than ten seconds at a time as the sun continued to sink down past the horizon… It was still pretty early, but so was the year. Amy gave it another hour before this place was as black as Carol’s heart...or her diagnosis if she didn’t get down from here before her legs lost all circulation.

Without her, Vicky wouldn’t have had anyone to keep her legs stapled on; all that flying and super strength did her no favors when it came to exercise. That Amy was about to lose hers thanks to Vicky was the worst sort of irony...but it could have been worse. She couldn’t forget that.

When Victoria had come onto the court with a whole cart full of basketballs, the thought that she had been volunteered for target practice had been at the front of her mind. It had just been for a second, but it had been at the front of her mind all the same… That said, Vicky hadn’t been kidding about the wind and the possible rain that could be coming their way. That was kind of a problem...of course, when wasn’t there a problem around here?

Welcome to the Brockton Bay experience. Sign up here for your free mugging in a seedy, urine-soaked alley to complete your package, miss… Amy hoped that she wasn’t going to be up here till it started raining. Unlike her sister, she didn’t have her own personal environmental control bubble...that bitch.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” Victoria said wistfully; cutting down Amy’s line of thought without prompting as she looked down and in between her hands. Down at the slowly deflating black and orange mass that lost whatever sealing it might have had left as she pulled her fingers out; a victim of circumstance as she tossed it at the hoop only to have it slap against the backboard and slide down into the dirt. “A long while.”

Amy shifted in her spot then stopped when the hoop let out an especially worrying creak, her fingers locking around the rim with a white-knuckled grip. “Yeah. Four years? Five?”

“Since I got dropped from the team? That sounds about right.” Taking another ball off the rack, Vicky started dribbling again. “Haven’t come out here lately either, actually. Not since...last September maybe?”

“Two months ago then?”

“That’s what I said, Amy. It's been a while,” The blonde replied with a cool grumble as she went for another shot only to, once again, miss. This time, chain link rattled like it was in the middle of a storm. “My muscle memory is shot to crap...”

Amy grimaced as an especially potent wave of Vicky’s aura washed over her, not exactly pleasant. “Vicky. Aura.”

Vicky huffed but turned it down before going out to retrieve the ball, surprisingly still intact. “I remember having one of the best free-throw percentages in my age group.” She huffed again. “This shouldn’t be so hard.”

It shouldn’t, Amy agreed. It shouldn’t but, sometimes, things changed. Vicky was older now. Stronger. Her perspective had, no doubt, shifted thanks to all the time that she spent in the air as compared to the ground. The lack of practice was just another nail in the coffin that had been her sister’s trigger event.

Second-gen trigger events were ‘easy’. ‘Easy’ as compared to a natural disaster having buried you alive or having your closest friend die in a fire right in front of you, maybe… They still hurt. They still left wounds. There was always a cause behind them, no matter how many people thought that getting fouled during a basketball game was a cheap way of getting powers.

They didn’t know shit about ‘easy’.

Most people hadn’t gotten themselves a cracked sternum on the biggest game of the season before. A game where every member of her family had shown up, one and all, with her (and Amy, at the time) being the only one without powers. Without something to make them stand out, with nothing to make her _special_ …and then, the crash. The loss of the game. The final straw.

Psychology wasn’t her strong point, as she’d said many a time before, but it made sense to her if anything did...and this was getting awkward now. Uncomfortable. Watching Vicky do this, approach something so related to her trigger event, was just plain unsettling.

It may not have been quite the same as Amy’s own event, seeing her sister’s blood spilling out across the tarmac after a lucky bullet-

Amy shivered and pushed that thought away, just in time to catch Vicky tapping the rim of the opposing hoop by what might have very well been an accident. “That was close.”

“Yeah. Close. I’ve never heard that one before.” The blonde sighed while giving the sky a quick look. “I’m not too angry to think straight anymore, so that’s that, at least.”

“At least.”

“I know that you’re excited. That you’re feeling good about - everything. About me accepting you and stuff.” Vicky threw the ball again, doing it well enough that it bounced back at her instead of bouncing off in some random direction and into the distance. “But we’re going to have to set some more ground rules if you ever expect me to help you out again.”

Amy’s heart, having hit somewhere near her feet where it had stayed since the car park, rose up to her knees.

“For one, never shove food in my mouth to shut me up. Ever. I love you, don’t forget that, but I _will_ hit you if that happens again.” Vicky frowned, the ball in her visibly compressing. “I had to spill water on my shorts so that I could get past mom without any weird questions. Do you get me?”

Amy cringed at the very idea of that happening to her. Carol would have never let it go in that case. “Alright. That’s fair.”

“And I’m not walking around with this…” The blonde pointed at her lips, the telltale shine of hastily applied cherry gloss mirror-bright in the glow of the nearby streetlights. “In public. No. If you ever expect to get your frustrations out, we’re doing it privately. In private and with you putting me back to normal at the end.”

“That’s...” Amy licked her lips, that being more than she’d hoped for. “Uh…”

“If you can’t handle that, I’m walking. Got that?” For the first time in thirty minutes, Victoria’s feet left the ground. Higher, higher, higher yet until she was at Amy’s level. In her face and with a finger jabbing into her collarbone. “I said, **got that?** ”

Amy nodded her head fervently, unable to trust her voice right then with something as easy as a yes or a no. The repeated, rusty groans and moans of her seat were the only things keeping her from nodding like a headbanger at a metal concert if she was honest, and it was taking all she had to keep from smiling.

“Good.” Fitting her hands under Amy’s arms, she pulled the brunette up and out without much further issue. “I also expect two barrels of root beer on your dime.”

“H-huh?” Amy goggled at her sister, instantly proving herself right in her decision not to trust her voice as it came out in a mewling whine. “Barrel? Root beer? What?”

“I’m not a cheap date, Ames. You should know this by now.” Swooping down with Amy under her arm once again, Victoria got herself another basketball and took aim again. “Just one last…”

The ball hit the backboard perfectly, shattering the plastic in a spiderweb pattern before sliding down and into the hoop without even a swish of the net.

Amy licked her lips again. “We should go now. Also, I’m sorry.”

“Already gone. And you’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Damn.”


	5. Chapter 5

Vicky, lips pressed tightly against each other in an experimental manner, hummed; tried not to shiver at the _lack_ of sensitivity that came with it, then smacked them for taste… She’d only had them for the weekend but it felt like it had been forever. Eating. Drinking. Life had been very different for a while.  
  
Now it was a whole new sort of different. Much smaller than before, just a little bigger than when they’d started. Just a little above average...different.  
  
“You know, I’m starting to feel like I should be offended,” Amy grumped from off to the side, her arms planted firmly on the back of the chair she’d spun around before taking a seat. Victoria had to say that, if Amy was trying to look cool and aloof, she wasn’t pulling it off all that well. “Like you don’t trust me.”  
  
“It feels weird, Ames. No shit I’m checking the work. Quit whining.” Vicky smacked her lips again. That was a difference alright. The look she was giving to the mirror wasn’t helping change that. “You sure this isn’t noticeable? It feels pretty noticeable.”  
  
“To you, probably, but that’s you.” Amy rolled her eyes. “No one is going to notice a thing. Or admit to it anyway.”  
  
Vicky leaned forward with another hum, closer to the mirror as she rubbed a thumb over her mouth. “You aren’t wrong.”  
  
Despite the reputation she had, Vicky wasn’t all that vain. Yes, she spent a lot of time making sure she looked good but, really, who didn’t? Makeup, clothes, hair. She kept up with the trifecta like pretty much every other female her age…and a little more, thanks to her being part of a Cape Team.  
  
Crystal may have been ‘the face’, but Victoria had her own PR moments to look forward to. Looking like a slob, or showing any drastic changes to the public, just wasn’t in the cards.  
  
“Of course I’m not,” Amy switched her arms over her rest with a scoff. “The only ones that’ll notice are those freaks from PHO, at worst. Or the tabloids.”  
  
“You’re not helping with convincing me I should keep this, Amy.” Vicky suddenly spun around and Amy nearly fell out of her seat with a squawk. As it turned out, a heart-to-heart wasn’t all that was needed to make an existential fear of being crushed by a Brute go away… Or that you’d unleashed your awkward fantasies during a moment of weakness all over the focus of said fantasies. Funny that. “I have to go outside sometimes. Schmooze with the public and punch out evil. Hero stuff.”  
  
“And I have to worry about people looking at _me_ for making that noticeable change. I have things to worry about too, you know?” Amy pointed out, her cadence jittery as she rocked forward and put all four legs of her seat back on the ground. “When I say it isn’t noticeable, I mean it, okay?”  
  
“... Yeah. Fine… We’re not doing this again, right? The giant bolt-on lips thing?”  
  
Amy sighed. “No.”  
  
“Just making sure.” Victoria went back to the mirror and started slowly spinning in the air to catch her profile. “I like eating too much to keep those. Sorry.”  
  
“I’ll live.” Barely, Amy’s tone said… The last few days had had Amy showing more emotion than she normally did in a month. That was some real passion. “So, what do you want to do now?”  
  
“... I don’t know. I never thought about it.” Vicky finished up her spin. “I’m just, uhm, giving you a hand here.” Her brows quickly furrowed as the innuendo of what she’d just said struck her. “I don’t think I thought that one through.”   
  
The wave of red creeping up Amy’s neck and into her face said that much. As did the groan and the grimace and her refusal to meet Vicky’s eyes with her own.  
  
“Rephrasing that,” she raised her voice like Amy kept raising the stakes. Loud, bold, and utterly shameless until after the fact. “This is your deal and I’m just here to help by undergoing these definitely, and totally, temporary changes to my looks.”  
  
“Right.” Amy coughed awkwardly, expressing what the both of them felt. “What _temporary_ change do you feel up to?”   
  
The emphasis on temporary was an uncomfortable one. Seeing as she was here already though...  
  
“Well, according to the current impossible to meet standards of beauty these days, Booty is in.”  
  
“... Booty?”  
  
“You know.” Vicky held her hands up and did wavy motions in the air that, if you squinted, could have been mistaken for her describing a fish of some size… She’d never been the greatest at charades. “Booty. Putting some junk in that trunk. Adding a little donk to that badonka. Smuggled hams.” Vicky came to a stop as she came up empty, still moving her hands. “Butt.”  
  
“Yeah. I understood the first time around. I just had to process the jump.” Amy exhaled through her mouth until she started to wheeze before taking another breath. “Those were all terrible too. And what were you trying to do there? Describing a Picasso?”  
  
“Well, I was thinking I was describing the shape and content of one of your wet dreams, but I guess I might have been pantomiming me walking out of here instead, once I think about it.”  
  
“I’m sorry.” Amy switched gears so hard Vicky thought she could smell burnt rubber. “So sorry.”  
  
“Damn right you are.” Victoria held a hand out to her sister, features entirely placid and tone flat. “Do it before I change my mind.”  
  
“Uh… Alright.” Amy’s tongue darted to moisten her lips. “Just so you know, booty can mean all sorts of things. What are you looking for?”  
  
“I’m looking for a surprise.”  
  
That might have been the wrong thing to say.  
  
Amy had leapt up from the chair, crossed the room, and had a hand wrapped around Victoria’s wrist quickly enough that Vicky would have been comfortable giving her a movement rating of one; the increasingly familiar sensation of her body shifting had her shivering. It wasn’t unpleasant but it was certainly strange… And petty. Definitely petty even if they weren’t hurting anyone.  
  
Amy needed to relax and this was a pretty small thing to do for her, considering. Vicky had nearly killed a couple of people. Amy had cleaned it up. It was just quid pro quo at this point, ignoring everything else...like how Amy could be making super soldiers or something instead.  
  
 _But I don’t want to make supersoldiers. I want to make super thicc supermodels._ Christ...  
  
Amy releasing her near death-grip on Vicky’s wrist told her that it was over, done within a few seconds that had Victoria shaking out her hand like she’d lost blood flow; it tingled. Vicky didn’t look at herself immediately, a little preoccupied with the feeling that was her panties having grown teeth.  
  
Metaphorically, she hoped, seeing as her sister had been showing all kinds of skills that she hadn’t been before but, before her forcefield had kicked in, there had been some _bite_ there. She could already tell they’d never be the same...or her yoga pants for that matter. The yoga pants she was wearing.  
  
Good thing they were old… That hadn’t even crossed her mind before she’d let Amy go wild...and why did her bra feel so loose?  
  
“I’ve done something good today. This is...this is just great.” Amy clapped her hands as giddy as the blonde had ever seen her. Smile going from ear-to-ear, eyes bright, eyes refusing to move away from Victoria’s newly inflated body… It wasn’t perfect, but at least someone was getting something out of this. “Are you going to take a look?”  
  
“... I don’t know,” Victoria began as she gave her chest a pat and found herself - lacking. This was going downhill pretty damn fast in her estimation. Bigger was one thing, gone was another. “You didn’t actually turn my butt into a pair of smuggled hams, did you? Because that was a joke.”  
  
“Of course not. What kind of question is that?” She flapped a hand. “You don’t have enough body fat for that anyway.”  
  
Vicky blinked. “... Wow. You just threw that out there, huh?”  
  
“You were the one that brought it up first.” Amy happily turned it around on her without a missed beat. “You really should eat more though. I had to move around some stuff to make this work at all.”  
  
Vicky grumbled and gave herself another pat then, thanks to her bra beginning to lose its fight against gravity now that it had nothing to hold onto, decided not to do that again. “I noticed.”  
  
“Sacrifices have to be made for the sake of progress.” Now, Amy’s tone was nearly melancholic, the darker sister of the two studiously ignoring Victoria’s flat stare. “Come on though. Look at yourself. Tell me what you think before everyone comes home.”  
  
Victoria, with a grunt of affirming disgust (they’d chosen a day without the parents for a reason, damn it), took a trip back to the mirror. A trip that felt much longer than it really was as she stiffened her upper lip and lifted her chin.  
  
Come what may, she’d face it with dignity. Restraint. The self control that only a true hero could-  
  
“Jesus Christ!” Vicky exclaimed as she recoiled from the mirror in surprise, utterly defeating the point of psyching herself up. “What am I supposed to use this for, Gallagher stage shows!?”  
  
“That’s more of a - thigh thing, actually.”  
  
“I’m not even going to ask how you know that.” Victoria patted her hips with a wince, the tortured spandex of her pants stretched so thin she could see her skin tone peeking through. Just moving and breathing sent tiny ripples through her back seat in gleeful defiance of the conservation of energy. “How do you expect me to wear _clothes_ like this?”  
  
Amy, thankfully, didn’t reply to that question. It had been entirely rhetorical, her being far too busy with copping a feel of herself to add any real input… Soft, yet firm, with _just_ enough give for it to be a nice layer of padding over an even nicer layer of muscle.  
  
Spinning around and twisting her head to take it in in its entirety just rubbed in how _big_ she actually was. If not for her forcefield, she’d have been in some pain right then; her pants fit so tightly against her body that they might as well have been painted on, her panty line standing out starkly under a thin patina of baby blue spandex… It would take her both hands to cover up most of a single cheek at this point and her booty hadn’t exactly been all that small before.  
  
“I don’t think I’d even be able to walk,” she muttered and gave her new bottom a testing shake. If she’d been expecting any difference between breathing and this when it came to her relationship with inertia, she’d have been sorely disappointed when it bounced from left to right with all the force of a wrecking ball. “That’s one hell of a Master rating to take home though, I’ll give you that.”  
  
“You could hip check an Endbringer with those.” Amy swiped a sleeve over her mouth. “And it's not like you walk all that much anyway, right?”  
  
“That isn’t the point!” Vicky exclaimed, whipping around to face her sister with a lecturing finger… It quickly proved to have not been her best idea as Newton’s first law took its due, a loud _clap_ ringing throughout the room as she locked up in mortification. “Oh my God, _no_.”  
  
“No what?”  
  
“ _No._ ”  
  
Amy, every line of her body screaming _begrudging_ , reached out in a mirror to how the session had started in the first place.“... I guess a butt you could balance a glass of water on was a little much for a start.”  
  
“You think!?”  
  
“Spoilsport.” Amy put her hand on Vicky and there they went.   
  
Rapidly shrinking, just like rapidly growing, wasn’t something that happened every day. Or any day really, even for an active cape of her caliber. If not for her being able to fly, she’d have been forced to fall back when she stopped being as bottom-heavy as your average bowling pin...and her breasts were back. Great.  
  
They might have been more trouble than they were worth at times, but they were hers. Nice to have them back.  
  
“Okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I think it's time I-” Vicky’s mouth froze along with her entire frame, stuck somewhere in the middle of a word that she couldn’t quite remember as - something - happened. Something she should have foreseen.  
  
She’d seen those commercials where people wore their old pants to show how much weight they’d lost. The ones where the waist didn’t even touch the skin anymore.  
  
It was pretty much the same here.  
  
Amy was in a similar state to her. Frozen smile, a lack of breathing. Eyes thankfully stuck over the belt when pretty much everything on Victoria’s lower half slipped off of her like water from a duck’s back.  
  
Vicky, being able to move eighty miles per hour, slid around and behind her sister in a second. Fit her hands under Amy’s pits, lifted her up, flew the both of them to the door, wrenched it open and gently threw her out before slamming the door shut; Doing that all in one go, it was amazing that the only thing that broke was the door.  
  
That was fine though. She was used to that. There were about ten more in the garage still, so no skin off her nose. The biggest problem here, the worst part of all this mess?  
  
She hadn’t shaved this week. _That’s_ what got her… There was more to the whole deal than that but, right now, that was what did it. That, and how Amy had taken a couple of liberties when putting her back to her normal self.   
  
A quarter. A little twisting...and Vicky could only _stare_ at her ceiling and the coin that had been embedded in it.  
  
… They were going to have to have another talk about boundaries, weren’t they?


	6. Chapter 6

Amy’s morning after one of the greatest moments in her life came with a noticeable limp. A hitch in her step indicative of a sprained ankle that came with having been gently tossed out of a room by a very embarrassed Brute. It hurt like a motherfucker on the Amy Dallon scale of ‘oh fuck that smarts’; a solid six for any other medical professional.  
  
It would have taken one of those medical professionals to peel the smile off her face. That and a crowbar, with a side order of the jaws of life and maybe a stick of butter to grease the wheels. It was the smile of a job well done, of dreams reached and mercilessly taken advantage of. It was the smile that a little girl had when they actually got that pony they’d been asking for since they could talk and maybe even before.  
  
That was a thing that little girls asked for, right? She’d personally never been the type...besides, what she’d gotten was something that little girls weren’t exactly likely to ask for. She was pretty sure about that.  
  
Amy had found herself with the chance to create the finest booty known to man - and she’d taken it. She’d grabbed it with both hands (not literally, sadly) and zero regrets...and it was the finest. Just like there were zero regrets, there were zero doubts. Victoria’s bottom was the _perfect_ bottom. The bottom to rule all bottoms. Perfectly round, absolutely firm with just the right amount of _bounce_ and _give_ for any possible situation one could think of for the superhero on the go.  
  
Falling off a building with only one thing to break your fall? Land on your butt. Someone just swung a baseball bat at you and you have to choose a body part to get hit? Choose your butt. Need a quick distraction so that your definitely-not-mousey partner can clonk someone over the head with a fire extinguisher? The butt.  
  
She’d thought that particular argument over for a while; selling the combat booty as a tactical weapon. Almost as long as she’d been thinking about how creating a retrovirus and letting it loose would let her skip the middleman and get right to the juicy part that was making the entire world into eye candy… That hadn’t been serious though, that last thought. She’d die before that happened and she’d deserve it.  
  
As long as she didn’t think about things like _reality_ or _consequences_ though, it was a nice fantasy. It had gotten her through a hard day more than once and, she suspected, it would get her through a couple more in the future… With some extra detail.  
  
Imagining something was a great deal different than actually doing it. Experience made a hell of a difference, wiping away the sweaty, sort of greasy fog of fantasy and replacing it with the warm, soft caress of reality.  
  
… Goddamn. Amy could have filled a bath with all the endorphins and feelgood hormones that were swimming around her body right now. She hadn’t been this high on life since that one time she’d accidentally dosed herself with laughing gas and took that three hour nap after… Accidentally getting high was a part of life and, so, she’d been high on life. Her logic was impeccable.  
  
The logic of others and the highschool rumor mill, not so much. If she had to hear someone say from three seats away, out loud, that she looked like she’d gotten laid, she would…she’d do something. Whether that something would end up with her getting a reprimand stronger than a slap on the hand if the PRT followed the trail back to her was up to them.  
  
How deep the imaginary stick up her butt was, was no business of theirs. If they didn’t want to feel like they had an _actual_ stick up _their_ rectum, they should keep that shit dumb shit on the inside of their heads and on the outside of her hearing. Inside voices, bitch, have you heard of it?  
  
Those neanderthals had totally harshed her buzz, turning her mood from absolutely ecstatic to pleasantly joyful. Dicks… Ah, well...it was probably better they had helped her come down. Being that happy couldn’t have been healthy for her and her general view of the world.  
  
What most people called optimism, she called self-delusion. Work in the medical industry long enough and people tended to agree with that view more often than not. All part of the job, like fishing a shampoo bottle out of a fifty-four year old man’s ass for the second time that year.  
  
… Ooh, yeah, she could just _feel_ that peace and love going down the drain. Why they (and several others) had to keep playing as if it had been an accident, she didn’t understand. There was a point to denial and they’d gone way past it.  
  
Now she was almost feeling normal. Almost. Good. If she ever wanted to feel that way again, she needed a clear head. Jumping into her next session feeling like she was invincible was a good way for her to end up in a wheelchair and not in the way she’d like.  
  
Nothing wrong with holding onto that last bit of happiness though. Nothing wrong at all.  
  
Amy nodded to herself as yet another stack of depreciated fantasy-fuel found its way into the depths of the strongest lockbox she could find; Heaps and heaps of the stuff, like a representation of time and how her tastes had - matured - from puberty to now… She would have called it nostalgic if she hadn’t been so ashamed of it all.  
  
They were going away for a reason. Multiple reasons. She had found something better now, and now it was time to put the old toys away… Until Vicky got fed up and shut her down permanently, to be clear, which was probably any day now but away they were going.  
  
Part symbolism, part pragmatism, part desperate hope. Putting it in her desk hadn’t worked, so an upgrade had been needed...not that it would stop anyone in her family that wanted it open, but the unspoken request for privacy might be just enough to let it slide on by.  
  
Carol never came up to her room and Mark was far too depressed to try. That had made it an easy sell.  
  
Powers meant for breaking things had their uses… There’d be nothing wrong with her getting some a bag of sage and some rolling papers. Nothing wrong with that at all in any way, legally especially, but it would be something for Carol to latch onto when she needed an excuse to bitch.  
  
Without something to vent at every other week, Carol just got even more bitter than normal. Let no one say that Amy hadn’t done them a favor.  
  
The sudden ringing of the bell, the final of the day, was a relief - of a sort. Her time facedown in her arms, dozing the class away and ignoring everyone around her was over. Now was her time to dance around her peers on her way towards the door, the choice as to whether she’d stay home or go to the hospital that day still up in the air.  
  
Now that she had something to look forward to, Amy found that going home wasn’t nearly so shit. She was just spoiled for choice when it came to what she could do with herself and her day now. She could...she could read a book or something. Crazy.  
  
Or...or, just maybe, maybe, she could pester Vicky until she agreed to let Amy mess with their proportions some more.  
  
Spoiled for choice.  
  
==========  
  
"What have we learned today?" Vicky’s smug, harpy-like, siren-call of a voice came from overhead. “What lessons have we gathered from our day at the place of knowledge?”  
  
“I learned that two and two equals four.” Amy’s voice rose into a screechy falsetto, scratchy and not at all comfortable to do as her vocal cords strained to unleash the full force of her mockery. “I also learned that I’m never going to need that knowledge in my adult-life, because I have a marketable and irreplaceable skill.”  
  
Victoria, in a fit of whimsy, came around to her front while flipped upside down to give her a frown; The existence of a nice, thick pair of shorts under her short skirt was a disappointment and a half. “... What crawled up your butt?”  
  
“Nothing. I just have a new perspective on my life and I’m getting existential.” Amy paused. “Also, how attached are you to your friends?”  
  
Victoria’s frown deepened, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why?”  
  
“No reason.” Stepping around her sister, only barely able to resist poking her in the cheek as a joke, Amy snatched the TV controller off its holder. It was her time now. “They’ve just been asking about who did your last treatment.”  
  
Vicky flinched in midair. “You said no one would be able to tell!”  
  
“Not this one. The one before this one.” Amy dodged a possibly deserved slap with aplomb, graceful as a grump-ass swan on a frozen lake with a busted leg… Not very, but it was more than enough. “Remember how - mom - had you keep the lips until they went back to ‘normal’?”  
  
Victoria spun in a quarter-circle to face Amy, who was already looking for something mindless to enjoy, and hissed, “how could I forget?”  
  
“How could you?” Amy sort-of-agreed behind her pillow shield, the first go round of the first five-hundred channels well on its way. Another three or so, and maybe she’d find a winner. “I might have sped it up some, made it look a little more - less - but I guess it stuck in the collective consciousness.”  
  
“... No jury would convict me.”  
  
“You might be right,” Amy replied without a worry. The next episode of ‘Lives of Our Wards’ was coming up in five minutes. How blissfully _vapid_ and outright _untrue_ it was never failed to make her smile. “It's just your luck that you’re a model to look up to and emulate.”  
  
“Eh?” Victoria flipped back upright, hair nearly lashing Amy across the face like a platinum-blonde cat o’nine. “What?”  
  
“Girls, or their boyfriends, across the school have been floating questions about it all day. Where can I get some of that? How much? Will it make my face fall off?” Round two ticked over, bringing her back to the start. “The answer of ‘maybe’ didn’t make all that many people back off. I wasn’t surprised.”  
  
“Oh, god. _Seriously_? How would anyone think that was something worth copying?” Victoria took a ginger seat on the couch, no doubt still unsure about what to do with the new cushioning. “I couldn’t even talk without a lisp. What the hell?”  
  
“Beauty is subjective.” Amy, sort of offended at the poke at her personal tastes, had to defend herself. “You’re being very judgemental right now and I don’t think I like it. You’re better than that.”  
  
Victoria gave her a cool look from the side of her eye, unimpressed. “I’m really not.”  
  
… Maybe Amy had pushed a little too hard again, what with the megabutt and the impromptu electrolysis… Maybe. She was trying, damn it, but this was _hard_. She had nearly zero experience with indulging in her own wants and desires and that was really screwing with her impulse control.  
  
Having a chance to **_indulge_** was screwing with her in general. She knew it, had known it, had admitted it. Vicky and her had even had a talk about it, so it wasn’t much of an excuse to hide behind.  
  
She could _see_ all the chemicals in her body messing with her decision-making process. See, but do nothing even if she wanted to. Happiness was a terrible thing, looking at it… Time to backtrack, before she fucked it up.  
  
Amy sighed and gave up on the TV-go-round, picking a channel and sticking with it. “Do you want me to reverse the things I did again? I’m sorry about what I did, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I just thought that the hair thing would be appreciated and that it would be easier to put all the excess material to use instead of letting it sit around.”  
  
Victoria’s head turned slowly, eyes wide open. “Excess material?”  
  
“That gunk that gets stuck in a human body and tends to build up over time.” Amy frowned at the thought, her soap just starting in on its opening. “Cellulite, excess skin, cholesterol...that hair I was just talking about. Stuff. Nothing you’d want or that I’d thought you want.”  
  
“I didn’t have cellulite!” Vicky snapped back reflexively, a hand at the outside of her left thigh as her pale face filled with red. Amy had hit a weak point there...and, if she’d ever played poker, she’d have liked to play against her sister. Make a real killing. “I mean, I don’t! I never did!”  
  
“Of course you didn’t. It was just an example.” Amy wished she could have a recording of this moment.. Oh well. Memory was almost as good. “With how hard you’re projecting though, someone might wonder.”  
  
Victoria stewed on that while Amy gathered up the will for another go at an apology… Once again, not one of her strong points: apologizing.  
  
“So. Okay. I screwed up again. Sorry. I didn’t think and I probably deserve the bruises - and the sprain.” She raised the volume on the tv a couple of points as she remembered that Mark was _somewhere_ in the house. Even if he was probably far too depressed to pull together the context of their talk if he heard them, better safe… “Just let me reverse that all again real quick and we’ll, or I’ll, try to forget that this ever happened.”  
  
“... No. No, I think I’m fine.” Vicky gave her thigh another mindless pat and slid down the couch, outside of Amy’s reaching hand. No cellulite indeed. “I think I’m getting used to sitting down now too. It's - uh - pretty comfy, to be honest, even if I do feel a little drafty.”  
  
“Oh? Really? Are you sure?” Amy’s lips rose in a sardonic smile as she began the process of removing a sock from a foot, giving her yet another weapon for the teasing war ahead...and the test of how much Vicky actually wanted the changes. That she used her hands to do her tricks was a matter of choice; now she had _reach_. “It wouldn’t take me even a second to backtrack…”  
  
Vicky slid down the couch even farther, over the armrest, then began to make her way up towards the ceiling while giving Amy suspicious looks the entire way there… The killjoy. But now, Amy had her answer. “I’m sure.”  
  
Vicky didn’t hate what Amy had done to her. In fact, she might have liked it.  
  
Progress.


	7. Chapter 7

Amy paced across her room, radiating anxiety from her every pore. Her breathing was the controlled type, the one people pretended no one noticed even though they were sucking in breath like a vacuum cleaner with a clog in it; If her window had been open, everyone on the block could have heard her. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her shirt was sticking to her back and her hands were the definition of clammy.

What if Vicky had changed her mind? What if Vicky was held up? What if Carol had caught on to what was happening and started her lawyer crap again? What if...what if the _PRT_ had noticed that Victoria was slightly - thicker - and they were just getting their shit together to send her to the Birdcage?

That was some serious stuff.

It didn’t matter if she’d been doing what was essentially cheap plastic surgery. Amy had talked to Piggot for more than five minutes. The woman was a neurotic hardass that shouldn’t have been where she was, in charge of who she was. Amy’s oh so terrifying ability to sculpt a pair of ass cheeks with her mind would get her sent to a Canadian gulag in a heartbeat.

… Mark finding out wouldn’t be the _best_ thing that could happen, but it definitely wasn’t the worst. Even if he wasn’t having one of his bad days, he wasn’t the sort to get dramatic. He’d probably blink at them some, get all quiet then walk out. Like that one time Victoria had left an open case of tampons out and they’d been whispering about...something.

Something was all she had.

She couldn’t even remember what it had been, what they’d been fighting about, but that case of tampons had been enough to make Mark turn around as soon as he entered the room, the big baby. That had made finding privacy from a fourth of the people in the house pretty easy.

When it came to Carol and Victoria though, she was just shit out of luck. Obviously. That was why she was in this situation after all. That story didn’t need any retelling - and Amy thought she was going to throw up because, holy shit, if her glands pumped any more panic sauce in her veins her heart would explode.

That was the medical term because she fucking said so.

Any more musings on whether she should jump out the window now or later (that she kept thinking things like that was starting to get sort of worrying), were all washed away by a knock on the door. A Vicky knock. It was a knock that could have fit into an action movie, a pounding knock that rattled the door in its frame just before it got kicked down. It was that sort of knock.

“Amy for fuck’s sake, it was your idea in the first place so open the door!”

The sweat on Amy’s back dried up like she’d just walked into a desert. The rapid cycling of emotions she’d been going through lately probably weren’t the best for her mental health, but here she was anyway. She could be concerned about that when she wasn’t grabbing onto her fantasies with both hands.

Not...not literally both hands. Not yet. But, maybe...

“You will not believe the looks you get when you order two Challengers to go. You just cannot _believe_ how many people thought I was just going to eat them both right then and there.” Vicky said the very instant Amy opened the door, two gigantic and vaguely moist take out bags wrapped around her wrists. “I had so many cameras going off in my face I was pretty much blind for a whole five minutes and the amounts of money getting thrown around in bets were just absurd.”

“... How absurd is absurd?” Amy asked, morbidly curious as Victoria placed her cargo down at Amy’s bedside, one bag on top of the other. Grease began to pool at the bottom of both bags and Amy licked her lips. “Are we talking fifty cents or are we talking trading pink slips on the sly?”

“I think someone was talking about selling their house?” Vicky shrugged as Amy whistled. “They probably weren’t serious, but whatever. Not my problem. I need to change shirts before we go any further though...something looser. And, uh...” Vicky wiped her hands on her shirt as she gave Amy the side eye. “You probably should too. Is it that warm in here?”

What?

“What?” Amy took a look at her own shirt, and found that it was clinging to her so well that it was almost molded to her. She could see her bra and no goddamn wonder her throat was so dry. “... Just a little,” Amy said, thankful for her sister’s HVAC system of a force field preventing her from finding out the shameful truth. “I didn’t even notice.”

“... I’ll be right back,” Vicky said with one last look back as she floated out the door, gently closing it behind her. As gently as Vicky could anyway, what with her being Vicky, some dust was still knocked from the ceiling as she did so. That was expected.

Amy cringed as she felt her shirt tug at her skin, taking the privacy for the chance it was as she pulled it off. With a disturbingly wet _smack_ , the shirt hit the wall next to her laundry bin and fell into it; A, formerly clean, sock was then used to wipe her body as clear of sweat as she could make it, all before it joined her shirt.

Amy then spent the next thirty seconds staring at her closet like an idiot, remembering that she had all of four outfits that she actually wore when in public and her robes.

She was trying to be a little more optimistic these days. Failing most of the time, sure, but she was trying...and that was sort of depressing. Just - all of that. How she’d said it. How she’d _meant it_. Ow.

“Well, fuck it.” Amy reached out for her robes. Why mess with success? What they were doing was technically a medical procedure. Also, they were at home. She could wear what she wanted.

Off goes the bra, and on goes the comfy robes. She’d just finished pulling it over her head and letting it drop when Vicky finally came back into the room, without knocking this time.

It was like she was trying to embarrass Amy into catatonia. That would be one way to stop this, wouldn’t it, putting Amy out of commission? That would work.

“I borrowed one of Dad’s old shirts. So even if we stretch it out and get grease on it, it won’t matter.” The shirt billowed around Vicky even more than Amy’s costume did. Mark wasn’t exactly a big man. He wasn’t a small man either, but he wasn’t a big man. Its size must have been on purpose. A nightshirt? “He won’t notice.”

He wouldn’t. They had to be fair.

“Jesus Christ, no wonder they tried to talk me out of to-go.” Vicky’s rummaging about in the bags was enough to tear the butcher’s paper. With the sheer amount of grease that had soaked through, a stiff breeze would have managed it. “And why they gave me plastic.”

“It would have fallen right through the bottom,” Amy agreed absently while Victoria rearranged her furniture for a better dining experience. A nightstand in front of the bed, a neat pile of napkins in the every direction of the compass. “Just looking at that is making my cholesterol rise.”

And hunger. That too. Amy had had lunch already, a ham and turkey sandwich, but good food was good food...and there was something to be said about how much of it there was. People didn’t go to Fugly’s because it was cheap and fast… _They_ hadn’t gone to Fugly’s because it was cheap and fast.

“I’m going to need a good pipe cleaning, yeah,” Vicky said back, making Amy’s poor heart skip a beat as she took a seat at the edge of her bed… It was a good look for her. “So, do I just…?” She waved at the food.

“Yeah.” Amy coughed into a hand as she took her own seat, not _quite_ touching Victoria as she did so. Their sleeves made a rustling noise, but they didn’t _touch._ “You just need to eat. I’ll do the rest.”

“... Welp. There goes that mystery.” Victoria, her food still in the bag, tore a chunk of it off. Bread, meat, lettuce, onions and tomatoes and too many things for Amy to count as she anxiously rubbed her hands together like she was trying to start a fire. “Fingers crossed.”

Vicky put the handful of burger to her mouth and gave it an experimental nibble.

Amy now knew what a starving man felt when watching another eat.

They had always joked about taking on the Challenger one day, but had never worked up the courage or the cash to attempt it. They’d both known how that would have ended, badly, so it had just never happened... But Vicky was making up for lost time, as her nibbles quickly became bites, that quickly became her scarfing down as much of it as possible without choking.

“Oh, god, eating this in public would be a terrible idea.” Vicky quickly wiped her mouth, the sauce dripping from her mouth and nearly to her chin caught before it could stain her chest. “I’d be on a hundred message boards before I even finished with a quarter.” She took another bite. “Damn if it isn’t good though… Makes sense.”

Amy swallowed in sync with her sister as she reached a hand out to touch Victoria’s elbow.

“Unhealthy stuff always tastes the best.” Victoria didn’t say anything about the unasked for touching. She just kept on like nothing had happened at all. Like she didn’t notice that whatever sense of ‘fullness’ she’d been feeling was vanishing at the same time her breasts gained several ounces in weight. “This is, what? Forty percent fat?”

“Twenty maybe,” Amy rasped and cursed the lack of a cleavage window in Victoria’s top, the slight swell across the front doing nothing but giving her imagination far too much to work with.

“Twenty. Forty. So what? That’s enough for you to do your thing, right?” Victoria chewed. Her breasts grew. Her waist was reinforced. “It's just a number.”

“So’s a cup size.”

Victoria chuckled. “You aren’t wrong.” Watching Vicky demolish handful after handful of the greasiest food known to the Bay was doing all sorts of funny things to Amy. Things that gave her the idea that she should talk to someone with a proper medical degree, and an urge to slap Pavlov upside the head. That food and Vicky’s growing glories were so inextricably linked was going to do all sorts of strange things to Amy’s head. She just knew it.

Not like she wasn’t strange enough already, right…?

Victoria ate her way through three-fourths of her meal in record time, Amy’s help pushing her to extremes she’d have never been able to reach on her own. With two pounds of meat _alone_ to contend with, it was just a matter of biology. Super strength did not translate to a super gut.

What it _did_ translate to was about a pound and change of extra tit flesh pushing out a not-so-loose shirt.

Amy had started drooling a while ago, and she couldn’t say whether it was the Challenger that had done it or Victoria. Once again. Strangeness was in her future. More of it.

“Fuck this is weird,” Vicky rumbled around another mouthful. “I just keep eating and eating and I’m still hungry. Just - oh, man, this is weird.” She then, politely, burped into a napkin. Amy then realized she wasn’t entirely hopeless after all.

That hadn’t been attractive in the slightest. Having a front row view of the processes required for Victoria to do that, to burp, thanks to Amy’s hold on her wrist, had killed any hope of that before it could even begin.

Lucky her.

Amy sighed as she grabbed yet another handful of napkins to wipe off the grease that had been running down Vicky’s arm before it stained her sheets. “We talked about this beforehand. I told you this would feel weird.”

“Well… Yeah. Maybe. But this is like...pineapples and anchovy on pizza weird. Not chocolate milk in cereal weird.”

Amy swallowed her spit as Victoria’s tits gained another cup size in a single go; Vicky’s next bathroom break was going to be a doozy. All that sodium and junk had to go somewhere. Amy’s power might have been versatile, but she couldn’t create miracles. Minerals were outside her bailiwick. “Your idea of what is weird is weird.”

“What would I see if I looked down right now? Why did I have to take off my bra? Why am I wearing one of dad’s shirts?” Vicky sing-songed as she polished off the final chunk of the first Challenger, all but the last drippings at the bottom of the bag. “I don’t think you have room to talk about what’s weird or not.”

Amy added some elasticity for that perky look that just wouldn’t have been possible without her. A pair of G-cups and gravity didn’t have a good relationship at the best of times aaaaand she’d just soaked her panties a little. Awkward. “... That’s fair.”

Vicky said nothing as, just like she’d sort of implied she would, she looked down; she watched her bust line shift and slowly expand before her. Then, she stared. Poked at it, as if not believing what she was seeing. And how could she not? Amy barely couldn’t and she was the one that had done it.

Just one hand was no longer enough to hold one. Two hands were barely enough. Back pain was a thing of the past, sag was left to seethe in a corner along with the natural order and silicon had been made obsolete.

Mother Nature could suck Amy’s clit.


	8. Chapter 8

Vicky wasn’t going to lie to herself. Maybe to anyone who might have asked what she thought about her new bust, but not to herself.  
  
She could live with boobs as big as these if she had to. They might have been the sort of huge some people would have paid money to get rid of, but Vicky wasn’t one of them. Yet. She wasn’t one of them yet. Victoria couldn’t say how she felt one way or the other. Not fairly.  
  
She poked and prodded at her new bust shamelessly. Lifted, weighed and pressed in morbid, almost childish curiosity.  
  
Victoria hadn’t even gone and put them through their paces yet. So far, they weren’t even halfway as bad as she’d thought they’d be. Not perfect, seeing as she couldn’t see the floor anymore and finding clothes in this size would be pretty much impossible without someone that did it custom, but not bad.  
  
“If only I had the wardrobe for it,” Vicky said her thoughts aloud as she let her tits drop, the impetus behind them enough that Victoria felt the urge to sway back as a counterbalance. When you could pick a car up and throw it down a city block, that was some weight; all that from a single giant burger. “This is never going to be a permanent thing, I don’t think. We’re not made out of money.”   
  
And she wasn’t going to ask Dean to spot her the cash. Not this time. How would she explain the receipts? What excuse could she make up that wouldn’t make her look like a liar or an idiot? ‘I thought that triple-H bra might look pretty on the wall’ just wasn’t going to fly.  
  
Of course, lifting up her shirt tended to shut problems like that down before they became problems at all. And that was when she was _normal._ Pulling that old trick off with these babies would be devastating.  
  
… Not that she’d ever do that, or anything. Then she’d have another batch of questions to answer and be awkward about and then she’d be right back where she’d started, just with an extra mauling of her boobs. Ten minutes of it, at least.  
  
As tempting as it was to have her boyfriend suffocating themselves in her cleavage whenever they had even a moment alone, a balance had to be maintained. Otherwise the PRT would put her into a tiny metal cube for at least three days, just in case there was some sort of memetic effect tied to her chest.  
  
If anything would put her off of sex for a couple of months, that was probably it.  
  
“If only.” Amy sighed like a TV orphan would have as they stared at a skateboard on a plinth through triple-pane security glass: Overly dramatic and serious as a heart attack as Victoria turned her attention back to the second burger, satisfied with the knowledge that she could take a tank-shell to the chest and have it bounce off.   
  
Quarters, hah. Small time. Also, a thought.  
  
“Ah, sorry. I should have asked about this.” Victoria tore a drippy piece off her burger and held it out to her sister, their eyes wide open but unseeing. “Do you want some?”  
  
“Uhhhh…”Amy intoned with all of the intelligence inherent to a dial tone, her gaze focused somewhere far, far past the food in Victoria’s hand. Somewhere around Victoria’s stomach, where their dad’s shirt had begun to pull up thanks to the extra mass filling it out. “Y-yeah.” Amy licked her lips and then rolled up her sleeves before she took the offering from her sister’s hand. “Sounds good.”   
  
That Amy had been the one to set this whole mess up, but was the most nervous about it, was the funniest thing she’d seen all week. Victoria wasn’t blind. Amy had been on the edge the whole day and it was, mean as it sounded, funny. Not that Amy was freaking out, but that she was trying so hard to pretend that she _wasn’t_ freaking out.  
  
She had to call bullshit on it being hot enough to soak a shirt all the way through with sweat. Victoria might not have been able to feel temperature like she’d used to, thanks to her forcefield, but she knew how to read a thermometer; the AC control in the hallway outside said it was 75 degrees. That Amy had thought that would work said so many things, far too many for Victoria to even try to unpack without giggling.  
  
You’d think _she_ was the one in the hot seat with how she was acting.  
  
“Here. You got something right there.” Vicky picked up a napkin with a smile on her face and mischief in her heart. “Hold on…”  
  
Amy stayed frozen, like a deer in the headlights as Vicky leaned over to wipe her cheek of sweat and a dash of sauce...and she had to purse her lips about something entirely unrelated. While she had done this easily and a hundred times, if not in this context and much to Amy’s protests, her slight lean was stretching the shirt she was wearing beyond what it was able to handle. Amy’s hold on her wrist hadn’t budged a centimeter and that meant that it was getting worse.  
  
It was speeding up too. She could most likely smuggle an entire phone book in her cleavage by the time she dabbed away that drop of sauce, giving Amy a good look down her shirt as the collar found its limits in five pounds of a burger and the pseudo-incestous thirst of an utter pervert.  
  
Victoria loved her but lying to themselves wouldn’t help either of them.  
  
“There you go.” Vicky then quickly sat back in place, too quickly, leading to her bowling herself over due to the massive shift in her center of balance. Massive enough that she rolled over to bleed momentum before she remembered that she could _fly_ and forced herself to a stop. “Shit!”  
  
Momentum didn’t like that. At all. It told her so by giving her the dubious honor that was having her own boobs rise up and slap her in the face with all the force of a pair of bowling balls. Victoria felt her forcefield shatter, her head rock back as she let out an undignified squawk.  
  
Amy looked on, hands over her mouth and breathing like her lungs had been replaced by a pair of bellows while Vicky pulled herself back together; the blonde could barely believe what had just happened. It was like something right out of a comedy. That this was her life said...she didn’t know what it said.  
  
She’d almost snapped her own neck with her boobs. Seriously. She’d almost just killed herself. She wasn’t hurting or anything, thank god for her forcefield, but her boobs were deadly weapons now... Maybe that was how they finally took down Lung. One good slap with these and he’d be out.  
  
That would be a hell of an argument as to why she should keep them, wouldn’t it?  
  
Vicky shook her head at that as she forced herself back upright. She blamed Amy for that thought. Despite her grumpy and prickly personality, or maybe because _goddamn_ if she wasn’t as stubborn as a mule when she wanted to be, that girl could be very persuasive. How else could she explain why she had agreed to this at all?  
  
The idea that this was actually sort of fun had come later. As in, just now. Vicky elected to ignore those thoughts in favor of what was directly in front of her. She then stomped on the thought that told her that that was what she always did and that that was why she was here in the first place.  
  
That thought was worse than useless and it should feel bad about it.  
  
With ginger care, and an unsettlingly solid _plop_ of breast weight against ribcage later, Vicky settled herself back down in front of the bedside table with no further incidents. Just her ignoring Amy’s shellshocked look as she picked at the second burger and wondered if she should have got something different. Or multiple somethings. Pizza, or something.  
  
Don’t get her wrong, this tasted wonderful, but palate fatigue was a thing. She wasn’t there yet, but it was only a matter of time.  
  
Victoria picked up the little toothpick that held the garnish for the burger: a whole dill pickle and a slider, what some people would consider a whole meal on its own… And it was to laugh. Who had thought of putting a tiny burger on a bigger burger as an appetizer? What twisted sense of humor had to that, to this burger getting that particular crown?   
  
She then ate it and the question was made moot.  
  
Once finished with the garnish, she made her way onto the burger proper once more. Ripping and tearing her way through it a piece at a time while making sure to properly chew, trying not to appear like a starving dog. Even if Amy didn’t do brains, this whole ‘break down the food the second it hit her stomach’ thing was messing with her hypothalamus. All it knew was that no matter how much they ate, they weren’t getting full.  
  
Wasn’t that the plot of a horror book from Aleph? Spooky…   
  
She polished off another large chunk when she noticed something odd. Well, more odd. Odd, because it was normal. Odd, because it was relevant to her last train of thought. That last bite was still where it was supposed to be, in her belly, instead of where it wasn’t supposed to be, padding out her chest.  
  
Amy still had a hand on her. Hell, in fact, Victoria was sure that everything below the wrist would have been entirely asleep if she wasn’t a brute. Amy’s knuckles were bone white, and her hand was shaking from the exertion. Vicky’s gaze travelled up Amy’s arm all the way to her face...and she sighed. She sighed as she saw the blank expression on her sister’s face, their eyes as glassy as a doll’s; To top it all off, there was a small but noticeable line of drool trailing from the side of her mouth.  
  
Classy.  
  
“Hey. Ames.” Victoria snapped her fingers, causing Amy to startle as she was brought back to reality. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something?” She coughed and shook her arm. “A thing?”  
  
Amy stared for a moment, then rubbed a sleeve over her chin. “Yeah right,” she croaked then nodded, acting as if she had been paying attention the entire time. A classic school survival technique. Subtle. Vicky shivered a bit at the warm vertigo ‘feeling’ of Amy’s power processing all the food in her stomach. A sudden rush, a loss of her downwards peripherals as it was filled with a pair of bombshells.  
  
The increasing weight on her chest only served to add more pressure to the moment, making it more intense. Vicky nearly bit her tongue as she forced another morsel down her throat; Maybe they should have done this earlier? Growing as she ate was maybe a tenth as intense as this was.  
  
It sure would have made getting that beach bod easier. Amy had to keep this under wraps somehow, right? Abs was one way...right? She was just guessing. Amy was the one with the powers after all.  
  
She’d have to ask. It didn’t sound too out there. Later.  
  
“Hey Ames?” Vicky said hesitantly. “Maybe, uh, you could wait on doing that whole expanding thing until I’m...” Vicky waved her piece of burger lamely. “It's distracting.”  
  
This wasn’t a sex thing. Well, it wasn’t a sex thing to Victoria. Amy was weird. It sure felt like one now though. That wasn’t the best feeling in the world but it was what it was.  
  
Amy nodded, her tongue dancing out to wet her lips...and Victoria decided that the best way to handle this was to eat her way through her feelings. Like a well adjusted individual that wasn’t pretending that their problems would go away if they just ignored them hard enough. And, yes. That _had_ been very specific. Because that was the point.  
  
Victoria wasn’t repressing anything. Of course not. Utter nonsense.  
  
Another chunk of burger was demolished with frightening speed. Not with the same amount of speed that she had been doing before though. It was a _normal_ sort of frightening. The sort of frightening that people who had to worry about eventually filling up with meat and bread did when they were hungry.  
  
Now that it didn’t feel like she was starving, she could afford it...and now she could really focus on what she was doing.  
  
This would have wrecked her diet for months. The fat content in this thing was insane, making her Uncle Neil’s pork ribs recipe seem dryer than something that was...really dry. She wasn’t in a good state of mind to make clever analogies. Her arteries were clogging from the mayo alone. If Amy wasn’t here, it would just go to her hips and not in a good way.  
  
Cellulite was no one’s friend. Not even cellulite was cellulite’s friend… Ah. Wait. Her stomach was rumbling now. Not in _that_ way. The _other_ way. The one that came up after she drank a half-liter of soda and tried holding back what came next.  
  
This was going to be a big one.  
  
“Amy,” Victoria said calmly. “I gotta ask.”  
  
Amy sucked a breath, and a little spit, back behind her teeth.“Yeah, Vicky?”  
  
“What do I look like right now?” Vicky gently set aside the bedside table and it’s contents. She still had half a burger and 2.5 pounds to go, but that was why she was so curious. She’d just downed nearly ten pounds of burger... Or was it five? Either way she had downed more food then was healthy for her or for anyone with a stomach that wasn’t the size of a large child.   
  
“Uhhhhhh…” Amy droned as Vicky’s hand slipped through her boneless fingers. Vicky couldn’t help but roll her eyes. It was a good thing Amy hadn’t gotten her driver’s license yet. She’d crash into a streetlight the first time she saw some skin.   
  
Amy was even worse than most of the boys at school. Wear the good stuff and they just fell all over...themselves...  
  
Vicky stopped as soon as she caught sight of herself in Amy's bedroom mirror, partway visible. All she could do was numbly move even closer to the middle. That and just move closer, her left eye beginning to twitch violently as she took in the view.  
  
The shirt she was wearing was stretched almost to the breaking point, so much so that she had no idea why she didn’t hear it ticking as fibers gave way. The fabric had been forced to go from white to downright transparent; it was easy to see why. No men’s shirt had been designed to accommodate breasts a little larger than the wearer’s head.  
  
Vicky experimentally placed her right hand under her right breast and lifted. Even with her strength, she could tell that it had gained some significant heft to it after the last time she’d done so. The sheer mass caused her fingers to sink into them, all but enveloping them in the soft yet firm depth. Vicky wasn’t sure how to feel as they actually felt ‘better’ for a lack of a better term, then they had before. Doubly so with how much more perkier they were.  
  
It was when Vicky looked at her nipples, that her eye twitch went from violent to apoplectic. Amy had changed the size of her nipples to fit, then went past that; just a giant, tan circle in the middle of each breast and a heavy point in the middle that could have cut a hole in diamonds.  
  
That explained why Amy had been drooling like a dog with a steak, didn’t it?  
  
“AMY!” VIcky screamed at the top of her lungs, rattling the windows.   
  
She wasn’t really angry but, well, this was just sort of expected when someone went over the line, wasn’t it?  
  
Amy wouldn’t learn otherwise.  
  
==========  
  
“ONCE I FIND SOMETHING THAT FITS ME YOU’RE A DEAD WOMAN, AMY! DEAD!”  
  
“I just live here,” Mark said in a long suffering manner as he flipped a page in his newspaper. The less he acknowledged in this household, the less problems there were. How the hell did his brother-in-law do it? “I’m not important.”


	9. Chapter 9

Hell is other people.

It was a common enough saying, usually said by people that didn’t quite grasp the point of Jean Paul Sartre’s satirical play. It was still true though. There was no doubt about that. It just became doubly true when you went to highschool. Or had a job that involved working closely with the public.

When you were doing both of those things, when you were a high school-aged medical professional that also happened to be a Cape of some renown…? Well, some days, she thought she could understand where the Nine were coming from. Sometimes.

People sucked.

"Ah, crap! Again?" Vicky angrily muttered to herself before leaning forward to pick up her phone. Not over. All that did was press her chest up against the table and push her tits up in her bra, nearly causing them to pop out of the top covering them up. Nearly. “This is the second time today!”

People sucked, but days like this made up for it...and where had she been going with that again? She forgot.

“Dunno.” Amy shrugged. Sat back. sipped quietly at her Pepsi, discarded her original line of thought entirely and enjoyed the show. “Butterfingers, maybe.”

Victoria pouted. Her boobs continued to squish. “That’s mean, Ames.”

Mean? Vicky didn’t even know the meaning of the word. What the blonde was doing to her was mean.

Vicky had taken to wearing lower cut tops recently. Well, more like she hadn’t changed her clothes at all and she was rapidly outgrowing them, if Amy wanted to be honest. It wasn’t visibly that much lower, nowhere near low enough to violate the dress code at school, but it was more than enough for Amy to be happy with it; Now that her - needs - were being fed, mostly, Amy had been a lot less stressed.

It was also getting harder to imagine going without the view. Going without the time she spent with Vicky, doing crimes against nature and good sense… Amy might have been better off without the release. The indulgence. A leak, a weak spot, that little _give_ in her morals.

What did she know though? She wasn’t a psychologist. She didn’t have a degree in mental health. Onwards and upwards. Onwards and upwards...

"I am so glad dad talked me into getting that Brute rated cell phone case," Vicky said as, after a long struggle that led to her _eventually_ getting her phone off the floor, she started wiping the screen clear with her shirt.

Amy swallowed some more Pepsi as the show’s quality continued to grow.

“Uh, hey. Ames. You’re running kinda dry there,” Victoria pointed out amusedly as she glanced up from her phone. Then, she lowered her volume and raised a brow. “And I think you should blink more, before your eyes fall out of your head.”

It took Amy two long seconds before she heard what Vicky had been talking about. The wet annoying sucking sound of an empty soda cup.

She also blinked. Twice. Her eyes _were_ pretty dry, actually. Like Amy had thought, being able to stare without getting slapped had been a mixed deal.

They were in public. She’d been staring in public.

“Uh, yeah. Oops. I’m gonna go get a refill… Excuse me," Amy hurriedly mumbled as she pushed back, her chair scraping across the floor of the food court that rang out for what felt like miles.

Thankfully the place was packed so there was that horrible moment of teenage mortification as everyone stopped to look at her.

Did she mention she hated being a teenager that was forced to interact with society? Because she did.

Amy sighed as she made her way over to the soda fountain, tuning out the little whispers as she went. Yes, yes. The glorious Panacea, queen of the ER also had to eat and buy clothing that weren’t white robes... God. That had been a horrible costume design. If it hadn’t been for her ability to disinfect everything she touched, half the hospital would have had MRSA. And the less said about all the stains at the hem the better.

Her legs weren’t the longest and her robes extended a full quarter inch onto her sneakers. Did she have to say more?

Amy slammed her cup into the fountain, then cursed when she figured out that she’d forgotten to take the lid off the hard way. After correcting her mistake, and wiping her hands down with a whole wad of brown napkins she decided to look elsewhere. Where? Anywhere that wasn’t Vicky for a whole minute.

Things were a lot better than they used to be. It had been a whole month since they’d first started screwing around. Not...not actually screwing or anything, sadly, but they’d found a happy middleground and Amy didn’t feel like Carol was going to tear her head off at any moment anymore. Or that Vicky hadn’t found out that she hated Amy after all.

… Mostly. Almost twenty years of neurotics didn’t just go away.

Well at least she’d found something, well someone, pretty to look at. Being more comfortable with her - everything, Amy didn’t have a problem with sampling the eye candy. A cute blonde sitting by herself with a smartphone, laptop, and a notebook with a small hill of coffee cups piled on the side... She looked college age. Or close. Amy had never seen that shade of green before in her life and, she had to say, it really drew attention. It also made it easy to see how wide her eyes were right now as she returned Amy’s look.

Pretty wide. And very uncomfortable.

Awkward. The story of Amy’s life.

"Motherfucker," Amy swore as her soda cup overflowed, returning her hand back to the sticky soup from whence it came.

Forget other people, Hell was just leaving her to her own devices; waving to get the awkwardness out was out of the picture it seemed.

That the blonde was now leaving, acting like Amy had just started speaking in tongues as she gathered all her stuff to herself and started inching to the door said as much.

Damn it.

"Gee, Ames, are you okay?"

Amy's blood went cold as Vicky’s voice crept into her ear. It became like ice as she felt the paper napkins wiping off her hand. Then it became…. Whatever that really cold stuff was, nitrogen maybe, she hadn't been paying attention in physics that day. Anyway her blood became that when she felt Vicky press up against her back.

That Victoria had finally broken up with Dean, for the final time, crept back to the front of Amy’s mind. That, and how things had gone since the pair of Challengers Victoria had eaten in front of her what felt like forever ago and how they’d dealt with the aftermath.

Biomass didn’t disappear when you stopped using it.

The major issue with her ‘healing’ was biomass. Physics was a cold, hard bitch and mass didn’t just come out of nowhere. Neither did it disappear. The math involved in either of those things happening were pretty scary, she’d heard, and not just for the usual reasons. Anyway, she couldn’t just get rid of mass. Not in any way that was healthy. There was also the fact that they couldn’t just keep buying insane amounts of food for Vicky to eat.

Vicky and her weren’t made out of money. And, no. Making an actual money tree wasn’t in the cards. Not because she couldn’t do it. Of course not. It was just a bad look. Also, counterfeiting.

In the end, this had led to a rather ingenious solution if Amy said so herself. Which she did. Just don’t get rid of the mass. Simple. Oh, it took some trial and effort and a bucket of porkchops, but she’d managed to figure out what to do.

She’d simply made Vicky denser. Nothing that would show up on anything but the deepest of medical exams, but it had been done. Her bones were stronger, her muscles had gotten a tuneup. Amy didn’t know how much she’d needed the sight of Vicky flexing in the mirror, wiry muscles rippling with a thin coating of oil, but she’d needed it almost as much as she needed air.

That had been a good Wednesday… And that hadn’t been the only thing she’d done, obviously.

Vicky’s breasts hadn’t been left out. They were larger now, firmer. Easily explained by saying that she was going through a growth spurt; And Vicky was pressing them up against her back right now. On purpose, obviously. Even with the ‘slight’ changes in her center of balance due to their mutually agreed upon arrangement, Vicky couldn’t be _that_ clumsy.

Not without crashing through every single doorway and wall like a wrecking ball in a short skirt.

“Come on. let’s go.” Vicky said, floating back a little bit with bags in hand. “I want to try some more clothes on before we go home and I need a second opinion.”

Amy could only nod. Victoria’s body wasn’t the only thing that had changed in the month since. So had her attitude. Vicky had taken control and pretty much had Amy wrapped around her finger. More than usual.

God help her...but she was going to be nicer to the next addict she had to treat.

She got it now.

=========

Very nice. She was going to have to be _very_ nice to the next addict she met.

Amy’s fingers were clenched so tight that she could hear her knuckles pop. Each one was a visual cue to her eroding sanity.

As the harsh fluorescent lighting glared down on her, trying to melt the insides of her skull with their acidic heat,Amy finally remembered where she had been going with that Hell thing from earlier.

Hell was getting what you want.

… She was pretty sure that’s where she'd been going.

“I still can’t tell if you look better in blue or pink,” Vicky said from behind her, moving the two blouses of different color in front of Amy while looking into the mirror. “Hard choice.”

Clearly, the Universe had heard her commenting on the clothing she wore, even though it had just in her head, and decided to work karma upon her.

So here she was, in a far too small changing room, without her shirt, with her sister, who had Amy in a corner by dint of filling up seventy percent of the room while Amy had thirty. Amy was in Hell. A hell of her own making, a hell made up of everything that she’d ever wanted.

Amy was very, very glad that Vicky hadn’t decided to go pants shopping.

“Pink goes much better with your complexion, but light blue fits your personality better,” Vicky continued to play innocent, like she wasn’t flirting with Amy while pretending that they were doing something normal. There was no way that she wasn’t doing this on purpose; Amy knew she was.The lingering caresseses. The husky, sultry voice in her ear and the ever present feeling that was Victoria’s covered breasts being pressed into Amys’ body.

If this was what dating her had been like for Dean, Dean was a stronger man than Amy had ever known.

“Let’s go with the pink.” Vicky eventually decided as she tossed aside the blue.

Amy was barely able to keep track of Vicky’s movements from that point on. The blonde just took the pink blouse from it’s hanger, shook it to clear any wrinkles, unbuttoned the buttons and slipped it onto Amy with all the nonchalance one would have when they dressed a doll.

This was her life now.

Vicky hummed. “I think we have something here...”

Amy offered nor was capable of any resistance. Her arm went up when Vicky moved it up. It went down when Vicky put it down. There was a type of justice to this she supposed, or at least fair play.

She used Vicky like a fetish doll and, in return, she was being used as a fashion doll. That didn’t change the fact that this was hell for her but, right, she deserved it.

“Let’s get these all nice and tight,” Vicky whispered, destroying any and all doubt this wasn’t intentional. Vicky wrapped her arms around Amy from behind, her fingers smoothly buttoning each plastic tab; It just got warmer and warmer as they moved up.

Amy shuddered when they lingered on her own bosom, still finding it hard to believe that this was happening.

It had been a whole month and she _still_ couldn’t wrap her head around this.

“There! All done!” Victoria cheerfully exclaimed, removing her arms from Amy as if nothing had happened and Amy hadn’t just wet her panties. “And I was right about pink going with your complexion.”

Amy blinked dumbly, her brain trying to engage once more... Well she could easily say that the blouse wasn’t horrible. The size was a good fit, and the cut didn’t make her look frumpy. Though she didn’t see how it matched her complexion, especially with how flushed her face was...

Oh. Funny. That was funny. Haha.

“You know, I think I should do some clothes shopping of my own,” Vicky said, quickly floating out of the changing room. Amy glared at the quickly shut door, before collapsing onto the little bench on the changing room. The little breeze that came from that was nice, but she could really do with some water.

Changing rooms were stuffy at the best of times. All that teasing and sexual tension on top of there being two people in the room made it smouldering. And, no, she didn’t mean for the pun.

She was going to have to _buy_ this shirt to walk out in, just because of how much sweat it had already soaked up.

“I’m back!” Amy did not like how she could hear the excitement in Vicky’s voice. She looked up, and instantly regretted it.

The room had just gone from ‘smouldering’ to ‘inferno’.

In Victoria’s arms were pants, loads of pants. Jeans, pajamas, yoga. All sorts of pants. It was clear that, today, the universe had decided that today Amy was to suffer... Amy knew that there was no real pattern to them, Vicky had just grabbed anything that was vaguely in her size. How did she know that?

It’s exactly what she would have done.

“So I need your opinion on these pants, and if my butt looks fat in them,” Vicky said without even waiting for an answer. A cliche yet innocent thing to ask of your sister, unless you knew exactly what they were getting up to. Vicky lightly bumped the door with her hip, almost knocking it off its hinges as it clicked back into place.

Vicky dumped the pile of pants onto Amy’s lap with no warning or fanfare.

Amy’s knuckles started to pop once more under the pile of clothes, her grip strong enough to make diamonds. Vicky was facing away from her, but Amy had a great view in the mirror anyway. As Vicky slowly unzipped her jeans, Amy saw it all. She saw everything as Vicky unzipped, unbuttoned and slowly pulled her jeans down.

Amy regretted their mutual agreement to not take pictures right then.

“Oh, I forgot to take my shoes off. Silly me.” Vicky said as she started to bend over to untie her shoes, giving Amy a very good look at Vicky’s choice in underwear that day. A red lace thong. Vicky’s ass was perfectly on display, her handiwork shown to a crowd of one. Thick, firm, and peach shaped, extra biomass shaped to make the gluteus maximus one of the strongest ever made.

She regretted it very much...and Amy thought she might have heard something metallic break. The taste of iron was one that had her probing at her teeth to check if it was one of her fillings… It wasn’t. Her power told her that wasn’t the case. What had broken wasn’t something physical.

It was her restraint.

Vicky squeaked out, going ramrod straight above Amy’s head. Slowly, she turned her head back. Her eyes met Amy’s, Vicky’s face frozen in speechless outrage as she did.

Amy, herself, looked from Vicky’s eyes, down to where her mouth was. In that brief second of pure id, she had leapt forward and sunk her teeth into Vicky’s left cheek.

“... Well...” Amy eventually said after a brief pause around her mouthful of ass flesh. “I don’t apologize.”


	10. Chapter 10

Victoria needed to think of a response for what had happened earlier that day and she needed to think of one fast.

The last month had been...how would she even be able to explain it? To herself, let alone anyone else? Not that anyone would ever know if she had her way, but it was a thought that slipped in from time-to-time.

She really should have thought this through, about her actions and the long term effects long before Amy and her had gotten this far. Despite what PHO (and her current measurements) said about her, she wasn’t a bimbo. You don’t take and pass college-level courses while you’re in high school if you didn’t have anything between your ears.

She would have to admit that she had a huge, uh, _tendency_ to do things before thinking about them though. A tendency that was only aggravated by her powers. Who needed to look both ways before crossing the street when you could just fly over it? If you could run with scissors without getting hurt, why wouldn’t you? And, even if you did get hurt, or if you hurt someone else (she needed to get Amy a cake or something), it could be fixed in less than ten minutes and some sweating.

… She was starting to remember exactly why she preferred not to dwell on the things she did. It sucked, she was forced to confront her own personal failings and there wasn’t a single neo-nazi to punch to make her feel better.

Sometimes though, you had to tear the bandaid off and suck it up. Like she had with Dean.

Their relationship had never been the most stable, which was more than obvious in retrospect. Hell, it had been obvious while it was going on. Almost the entirety of it had been built on the fact that they were immune to the other’s powers... And Dean being her sugar daddy. And that was sort of it? Sort of?

They had nothing else in common. Not even the fact they were both, white, well-to-do, beautiful people in the same city. He was old money, she was just beyond the upper-middle class, but not quite in the next tax bracket. His parents didn’t like her and she didn’t like them.

He also got to hang up his costume at the end of the day, and she was Glory Girl 24/7. And you couldn’t forget that he was a dirty English pig while she was French.

He never had laughed at that joke. His sense of humor was entirely different from hers too. They’d tried to make it work. They really had. But, what with the whole Amy thing… Victoria had just not been as invested in the on-again, off-again relationship with Dean as she’d used to be.

She let out a large sigh.

Today was just one of those days, it looked like. Time for all that inner turmoil crap. It shouldn’t be though. And she wouldn’t let it be. She had something to do here, something that she had to do, and-

“Can I go now?”

Vicky flushed a little in embarrassment. She had forgotten that Amy was currently in the room. That little monologue inside her head had taken a while, longer than she’d thought. That meant that she’d been pacing back in front of Amy without saying a word for the last ten minutes.

She could see why that was unnerving. Victoria had only just stopped bringing down the fear of her on Amy’s head when Amy let her libido get ahead of her. Which was a lot of the time. Like, a _lot_.

Amy and handsy went together like peanut butter and jelly.

“No. We need to talk about everything. And I’m not mad at you.” Vicky quickly said, trying to clarify. "It's just I have a crescent mark on my butt that needs explaining. That was kind of out of nowhere.”

“Well… I guess? That kind of came out of nowhere. I’m sorry about that, but do I need to be tied to a chair? '' Amy looked down at the zip ties keeping her attached to the armrests of her dining room chair. All the anti-kidnapping lessons and drills she’d been through didn’t mean much if the person kidnapping you had also gone through the same exact training. “You’re kind of freaking me out.”

“You bit me in the ass.”

“Well, alright, _fair_ , but what else was I supposed to do? Your butt was right in my face!”

“Not sink your teeth into it like it was a slice of cake, maybe?”

Amy squared her jaw mulishly. “I’m only human, Vicky.”

“Humans don’t bite each other,” Vicky said back, annoyance slipping into the awkwardness. “I don’t know where you got the idea you could just - bite me - but that is really uncool.”

Amy hadn’t even asked first. Rude.

“Really? That trip to the zoo for your birthday says otherwise.”

“We were _ten_! And you stole my fries! Also, that happened almost a decade ago, stop bringing it up!”

Victoria should have expected this. Amy knew how to hold a grudge like no one else she knew. Not even she held a grudge like Amy did and that was saying something.

Victoria still hadn’t forgotten that she’d gotten a pair of gym shorts on her twelfth birthday instead of a barbie. Lime green gym shorts. She’d been scarred for life after that and she’d never forget it until the day she died.

Or so she’d said whenever she wanted to guilt her dad into buying her a boba tea. Same thing here, except Amy wanted to get out of her rightful punishment.

She was wise to her sister’s ways.

“Well, we’re even now.” And then, Victoria wasn’t so wise. Heck, now she was flatfooted while in mid-air. How was Amy winning this argument when tied to a chair?! “If you cannot commit you must acquit.”

“Oh my god, here we go,” Victoria muttered under her breath in a ploy to buy time, all while moving into Amy’s personal space with aplomb. Not to untie her, no. ‘Winning’ an argument or not, Vicky had the upper hand and might made right. “You aren’t getting off easy. Not this time.”

Amy stared at her. Her mouth squirmed. Then her face scrunched up as she looked up at the ceiling, shoulders shaking.

Vicky ran that last thing she said through her head then tried not to let out a frustrated moan. No more ammunition for Amy. Not today.

“You know what?” Vicky pivoted, both physically and metaphorically as she began floating over to her makeup table. She then began to root around, carefully picking through her various products. She honestly wasn’t that vain. She didn’t even use that much makeup, not more than anyone else did; Glory Girl wasn’t allowed to have a sweatpants and ponytail day. “I think you need a makeover.”

They’d started this at the store. Now it was time to finish it.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Amy said simply. Simply. And aggressively. Gravely too. It was a tone of voice that promised all sorts of horrible fates; What had Amy threatened her with all the way back when this started? Skin flaps that would make a flying squirrel jealous? Well, she was going to call Amy’s bluff.

After all, the mass for the massive cankles had to come from somewhere, and Amy wasn’t going to ruin the perfect set of T&A that she had spent so long lovingly crafting.

… That was a strange thing to think, but she knew Amy. The truth was the truth.

“Like, this blush totally goes well with a Winter complexion.” Vicky hadn’t meant for that tiny bit of valley girl to slip into her voice. She had never been to the West coast, let alone Los Angeles. And as many liberties that Amy might have taken, she knew that Amy didn’t do anything mentally. Not with the massive cringe of pain that flashed over her face. “Just like yours.”

“You’re sick.” Amy looked up at her with a face that was increasingly filled with dawning horror. “You _monster_.”

“Like OMG Ames! You should totally take better care of yourself!” Vicky cackled as she cracked open the blush container. In all honesty, she felt the whole season thing categories for complexions was just a way to trick women into buying more expensive makeup. But either way, this was blush made for her lighter complexion, so she would have to be very careful in applying it. And if it meant that she had to spend more time messing with Amy? All the better. “This is just gonna make your eyes pop!”

“I’ll pop your eyes,” Amy hissed out, reminding Vicky of that one time a raccoon had got under the porch. “Your cheeks will hold watermelons.”

“Come on, Ames. You’ll never get a girlfriend like that! They don’t like credible threats of extreme body modification, you know?” Vicky had no idea how she’d managed to say that line with a straight face, Probably because she was so focused on trying to blend it properly, not helped by the fact Amy was doing everything in her power to get a Mover rating from the neck up.

Of course, Victoria being a master of her craft, that didn’t stop her at all.

“Oh _god_ , no, I’m sorry!”

“I really should have gone with the liquid blush,” Victoria muttered with another swipe as she leaned over a bit. Strategically. The moment Amy realized she wasn’t wearing a bra this would get a lot easier...she wasn’t ashamed to admit that this was how she’d gotten people to work on group projects. Those were the goddamn worst. “But you’re looking really pretty right now.”

"Stop making me enjoy this!"

Damn it, Amy had figured her out. Her eyes might as well have been glued to Vicky’s cleavage and she still refused to stand still, even if it was a lot slower... Which put her ahead of the entire male half of Junior year, but that was damning with faint praise.

Oh well. It had served its purpose, the blush was good enough for the job.

"Never. You’re a girl. And girls like makeovers! And feeling pretty! And Make outs!"

Amy started to say something before she started to sputter and choke on her own spit. That gave Vicky more than enough time to get her good mascara. Not that she was lying about any of that, that was one thing she was going to miss about Dean. He had a sixth sense about when, where, and what to do when kissing her. The bastard.

"Now hold still, don't blink, and let me work my magic!" Vicky's accent slipped a little as almost all her concentration was directed to the brush. Even with invulnerability, a mascara brush to the eyeball was not fun as she learned. Having a black smudge over your eye could really screw up your day.

"You’ve actually got great lashes… Crap. Any better and I’d be wasting mascara," Vicky couldn't help but let that slip out without the bubbly charm she’d been playing with. Amy had a natural charm to her that makeup easily enhanced. Just a little color to her face and she seemed to almost glow. “That’s just unfair.”

Another one of Amy’s charm points. Vicky stepped back for a second, just to see how it was coming along, and nodded to herself.

Amy’s head bobbed soon after, Victoria’s tits the best possible pacifier of grumpy adopted sisters.

… That was another thought. Maybe later. Much later.

"You're so good that I don't even need to get out any eyeshadow. Maybe next time, you would even look good in chartreuse!" Vicky paused to see if Amy would catch that, but the lack of a shudder of revulsion said that she hadn’t. Victoria shook her chest and Amy was lights out. “It’ll look, uh, totally phat on you?”

Victoria wasn’t sure she’d used that word right, phat. Or that it was even up to date. Probably not. Yeah. Definitely not.

She’d have heard it before. Queen bee of Arcadia and all that. Keeping up to date with the lingo was part of the job.

"Car tires,” Amy rasped. “You'll be able to smuggle entire tires inside of your - oh wow" Amy's rants on all the horrible things she would do was cut off by Vicky holding up a mirror. “Who the hell is that?”

Vicky could have been a bitch here. She could have made Amy look like an overly ambitious five-year-old that had got into her mother's makeup. Taken photos, made copies. Laugh as Amy found out what it was like for someone to have a pile of photos of her tucked away.

But Vicky had some pride in her make up skills. Also, she wasn’t that much of a bitch. A dab here. A dab there. A line of lipstick on each lip… Not bad. And, really, it was deserved. Amy used her like a doll. Why couldn’t Victoria?

The more reasons as to why she could do what she wanted, the better.

"So? What have we learned?" Vicky finally dropped the airhead act.

Amy stared at the mirror. "That you’re a vindictive bitch.”

"And?" Vicky wasn't even going to deny it.

She was enjoying this.

"Don't bite people or else you'll make me suffer?"

"And?"

"I look good in makeup!" Amy would have thrown up her hands if she could have. But, well, zip ties. "Can you please cut me loose now? I'm hungry."

"Sure I can… Whoops.” Victoria gasped when Amy’s head just so happened to slip into her cleavage when she leaned down to break the ties; these babies had gotten _big_. “Sorry.”

Not sorry.

“Now stop squirming. You’re making this harder.” Victoria made sure to twist her torso back and forth as she switched from one arm to the other to break the ties in stages. Sure, she could have just done one and then the other, but this wasn’t the point. “Stupid, fiddly things.”

Vicky eventually did what she’d set out to do over several minutes, minutes where Amy had stopped moving and her cleavage had gotten stained with the dark red of Amy’s new lipstick; she’d thought she’d felt lips on her breasts. How funny.

It was kind of nice. That she didn’t feel as ashamed as she should have when she backed off to let Amy stand up was just one of those things, she guessed.

Amy didn’t get up. She just looked forward with lidded eyes, mussed hair, and lightly smeared makeup… Shame. But it had to be done.

“Amy?”

Amy twitched, her eyes rolling back into her head before she fell back, chair and all, to crash on the floor.

“Oh, god!” Victoria screamed. “AMY, NO!”

=======

“HELP! I KILLED AMY WITH MY BREASTS!”

Mark didn’t even twitch when he heard the scream of horror from his daughter’s bedroom. To an untrained, or even well trained eye, it would appear that he was deep in a depression spell. He wasn’t. In fact his Psychiatrist had only diagnosed him with Mild to Moderate symptoms, not to say that he didn’t have his bad days. Dear god did he have his bad days.

No. Right now, it was just a survival tactic. One that he’d been using quite a lot lately. Much like a car accident, tensing up in the face of trauma only made the injuries you sustained so much worse... And if he pretended that he wasn’t able to move, then no one would expect him to do anything about it.

Cowardly? Yes. But it also meant that he didn’t have to get involved with any situation that involved his daughter’s breasts.

Buying tampons when no one else was available was bad enough.


End file.
